


You Wanna Be On Top?

by gaytectives



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, America's Next Top Model - Freeform, Anxiety Attacks, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Body Positivity Problems, Body Worship, Depression, M/M, Miscommunication, Model Katsuki Yuuri, Model Victor Nikiforov, Modeling, Reality TV, Slurs, Sneaking Around, Vicchan Lives, because fuck yeah dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytectives/pseuds/gaytectives
Summary: Former fashion model and host of hit reality TV showAmerica's Next Top ModelViktor Nikiforov has achieved the loftiest goal of his career thus far; opening up his nationwide modeling competition to both womenandmen. Plucked from thousands of applicants, aspiring model Yuuri Katsuki and his insta-model best friend Phichit Chulanont are chosen to compete against twelve other up-and-comers and learn under the tutelage of Viktor himself. Will Yuuri and Viktor be able to keep their relationship professional? Or will they be forced to sacrifice the most important parts of their career for each other?





	1. Try Not to Cry: It's the One-on-One Auditions!!!

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall !! i have some quick things for you to know before diving into this fic:
> 
> 1) similar to the show, Yuuri has some self-esteem problems regarding his body -- this is a MAJOR warning for body dysmorphia talk, some vague descriptions of eating disorders, and overall body weight/positivity talk throughout the fic
> 
> 2) another major warning here for descriptions of anxiety disorders, panic attacks, depression, and other mental illness talk
> 
> 3) Yurio and Guang-Hong have both been aged up to 18 in this fic, solely because the competition age minimum is 18. NOTHING SEXUAL WILL HAPPEN WITH THESE TWO CHARACTERS. 
> 
> also, hugs and thank-yous to tumblr users [infinitehearts](www.infinitehearts.tumblr.com) and my best pal zabulous [yuriktsuki](www.yuriktsuki.tumblr.com) for beta-editing this chapter for me! i'm about to start a writing internship which will last three months so updates will almost definitely be completely random, but i'm halfway through chapter two now!
> 
> ok that's all enjoy !!!

The racket of two dozen excited voices rattles around the room like dice on a tabletop and does _absolutely nothing_ to drown out the anxious thoughts racing through Yuuri’s mind. He grips the edges of his seat, trying desperately to ground himself in the midst of his panic attack.

“I can’t do it,” he whispers, legs bouncing so quickly and forcefully that his calves are starting to cramp.

“Bad thoughts, Yuuri,” Phichit says, aimlessly flipping through a magazine. He’s one to talk, of course, because he’s already finished his audition today. He’s past the waiting, the heart-strangling anticipation. So, naturally, he can give Yuuri passive comments that make an attempt at being calming because he’s made it to the eye of the storm.

“Not _helping,_ Phichit,” Yuuri huffs.

Phichit tosses his magazine aside and gets off his chair in response, kneeling on the floor in front of Yuuri and staring up at him with a fierce smile. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he begins, “you have worked your ass off—”

“Oh god, not the speech,” Yuuri interrupts, dropping his face into his hands.

“Yuuri, I’m in my element, you can’t stop the speech!” Phichit insists. Yuuri groans and Phichit blazes on, unfazed. “Yuuri Katsuki, you have worked your ass off for _months_ to be here. You have primped and posed, volunteered to take part in unpaid runway shows, dieted your literal ass off, and once exercised so much that you actually puked, which was disgusting and will never be forgotten.”

“I wish you would forget it,” Yuuri grumbles.

“Never,” Phichit repeats. He gently nudges Yuuri’s shoulder and Yuuri hesitantly lifts his head to look at his friend. Phichit is beaming at him, which Yuuri can’t help but smile at in return. “Yuuri, you _can_ do this,” he continues, completely sincere. “They picked you out of _thousands_ of applicants. You’re here for a reason; they think you’re a gorgeous, talented model and they want to see you strut your stuff!”

The idea of strutting at all makes Yuuri blush brightly and tear up. He bites his lip to stop it from wobbling. “What if they laugh at me?” he whispers, staring at the carpet. “What if they make fun of—of my body, or my anxiety?”

“They _won’t_ ,” Phichit promises. “All they do is ask you about yourself and your fashion knowledge—which you have way more of than me—and then they have you walk back and forth in a bathing suit and it’s done. And if they try to make fun of you, I will march in there and fight each of those judges and scream, ‘How dare you! How dare you laugh at my best friend and the second-most talented male model in the world next to myself?’!”

Yuuri laughs despite himself and wipes his eyes, sniffling. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His bouncing legs slow to a stuttering stop. “I like that version of the speech a lot better than the one with the Scottish accent.”

“The Scottish accent brings it all together, Yuuri,” Phichit sighs. “You have terrible taste. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

Yuuri snorts and smiles at him. Phichit winks playfully and hops up off the ground, tossing himself back into his seat and returning to flipping through his magazine.

Of course, just as Yuuri is starting to feel calmed, one of the onsite crew members steps into the room and everyone quiets in anticipation, swivelling their heads around to stare at him.

He’s relatively unfazed as he looks down at his clipboard and calls out, “Iglesia, Leo?”

Yuuri looks around for the owner of the name and finds a drop-dead gorgeous guy strutting confidently toward the front of the room. Yuuri’s jaw drops and he hears Phichit whistle lowly next to him. They watch him leave and Yuuri is spiralling again before the door can even shut behind them.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he groans. His despair is unheard by anyone but Phichit as the rest of the models in the room go back to chattering loudly around them.

Phichit puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. “Yuuri, you’ve got this,” he insists again. “They plucked me up off of _Instagram_. If I can get here just by commenting on one of the show’s posts, there’s no way they won’t bring you on with all your experience.”

“It’s all amateur experience,” Yuuri mumbles. “Besides, I’m probably going to choke the second I realize I’m standing in front of Viktor Nikiforov. The actual, _real_ Viktor Nikiforov.”

Phichit snickers. “Yeah, do your best to hide your excitement in that bathing suit we got you,” he teases, elbowing Yuuri softly.

Yuuri blushes again, considering becoming part of the floorboards. It really doesn’t help quell his anxiety remembering that he’s had a crush on Viktor since he was a little kid. He has a collection of all Viktor’s magazine spreads, pictures from his photoshoots and fashion shows, and every DVD of every season of America’s Next Top Model since Viktor became the host five years ago. It’s not only embarrassing—it’s all-encompassing, and one of the only things crowding Yuuri’s mind aside from his physical insecurities. He’s been obsessed with Viktor for years, knows everything Viktor has ever told the public about himself, got himself off for the first time to _a nude photoshoot of Viktor._

God, and that was the wrong time to remember _that._ His eyes start watering from how hot his face is and he has to take a deep, shaky breath to help the waterworks subside.

He desperately doesn’t want to mess up this chance—this once in a lifetime, mind-numbingly incredible chance—to actually get himself out there in the world and make people see that he _is_ competent and capable, even despite his personal hurdles. It takes a lot for him to believe in himself, and if would be helpful if a few other people—aside from Phichit, his number one fan since they met in college—could believe in him, too.

“Katsuki, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s heart stops and drops to the tile between his feet and his breath catches in his chest. He’d been so wrapped up he hadn’t even noticed the crew member returning to the room.

Phichit nudges him persistently and he manages to lift his head and look over at the door. The crew member is staring back at him expectantly. Yuuri feels deadbolted to his seat.

Someone in the back of the room loudly and rudely clears their throat, and it’s like an on-switch; Yuuri springs up to his feet and stumbles toward the crew member, who checks something off on his clipboard and ushers Yuuri into the hallway. The door shuts behind them before Yuuri can take a last look at Phichit for reassurance, and it’s instantly quieter. Yuuri can’t tell if it’s comforting or unsettling.

“This way,” the crew member instructs, wandering off without waiting for Yuuri to follow. Yuuri trips after him hurriedly. His heart is pounding so hard and fast that his vision is starting to swim, blotted with tears already, and his hyperventilating is making him dizzy.

When they reach the other end of the hallway Yuuri has to lean against the wall and take a moment to practice his breathing exercises. The crew member stands by casually, apparently unconcerned about Yuuri’s anxiety attack. Yuuri wishes he could step into another room or even a broom closet at this point, but when he looks around frantically he doesn’t catch sight of any doors, no hidden little niches—just blank, bright white walls, taking their time closing in on him.

“Mr. Katsuki?” the crew member says.

Yuuri bites his lip to stop himself from whimpering pathetically in response. He clears this throat and sniffles, wiping his eyes roughly. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

He looks over at the crew member, expecting a pitying expression glaring back at him, but the crew member is just waiting patiently, face neutral. Oddly, Yuuri is grateful for it. Some part of him starts to relax unconsciously; no one here cares about his anxiety. They aren’t going to see poor, weak Yuuri—just another nervous competitor auditioning for a reality TV show.

He takes a big, shaking breath in and nods to reassure himself, then looks at the crew member and manages a little smile. It’s not reciprocated, of course, but Yuuri doesn’t mind.

The crew member scribbles something on his clipboard as he instructs Yuuri on where to stand and how loudly to speak and where to go when he’s ready to change into his bathing suit. Yuuri vaguely takes it all in and starts to thank him for his help but the crew member just unlocks the door in front of them and points for Yuuri to walk in. Yuuri obliges and looks over his shoulder, expecting to be followed, and is met with the door shutting in his face.

He flinches away from the violent crack and rubs his neck, looking around the dim backstage area. The crew member mentioned a translucent wall on the far end and Yuuri walks over to it. He can see three outlines on the other side; his throat tightens because he knows _exactly_ who each of them are.

He manages to propel himself forward, swallowing his anxiety as he goes. When he steps around the wall his breath catches in his chest at the sight of the judging panel in front of him.

Viktor Nikiforov sits smack-dab in the middle, the center of everyone’s attention—as always—with photographer and set designer Christophe Giacometti to his left, and runway coach Lilia Baranovskaya to his right. The three of them lift their heads to look at him, practically in unison, and he freezes halfway down the catwalk.

Viktor immediately flashes him a charming smile. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone look so terrified to be standing in front of us,” he teases, resting his chin in his hand. “Have you, Chris?”

“I think this is a first,” Chris agrees. He winks at Yuuri, who turns bright red in response.

Viktor snickers, eyes crinkling up in the corners. “What’s your name, _lyubimaya moya?”_ he asks sweetly.

A little thrill runs up Yuuri’s neck at Viktor’s slip into Russian. He’s always loved Viktor’s accent, the way it affects his little inflections and his eclectic pronunciations. It sways Yuuri so much that nothing comes out when he opens his mouth to speak.

Viktor raises a brow at him patiently, and he sees Lilia scribbling something into a notebook, something no doubt negative, because what kind of fashion model can’t speak in front of strangers, especially important strangers? It shocks him into blurting out, “I—I’m Yuuri Katsuki, um, twenty-three, I’m from Japan but I live in Detroit because I went to college there, um, but I graduated a few months ago, which is. Good.”

He winces at his stumbling words and waits for someone to comment on it.

Viktor just keeps smiling at him. “What university did you go to?” he asks.

Yuuri lets out a little sigh of relief. “University of Michigan,” he says. “I have a degree in design and merchandising.”

“Lovely,” Viktor says, finally looking away to jot down a note. Yuuri smoothes his hair down nervously. “Did you get any modelling experience during school?”

“Well, um, the fashion design department would have students model their final projects and I helped with that a few times?”

“And outside of school?” Viktor prompts.

Yuuri shuffles his feet, shoving down his insecurities. “Just amateur events,” he says. “The occasional photoshoot. I’ve never been represented by anyone.”

Viktor nods and writes some more while Chris picks up where he left off. “So, you’re from Japan?”

“Yes, in Hasetsu,” Yuuri says. Then he realises that no one but him knows that that’s even an actual city, so he clarifies, “It’s on Kyushu, um, all the way to the south, right on a beach, it’s—it’s nice.”

Chris smiles placidly. “Do you still have family there?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nods. “My mom, dad, and sister, and my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Viktor pipes up, smiling brightly.

Yuuri relaxes a bit and properly smiles for the first time since he had to leave Phichit’s side. “He’s a toy poodle,” he says.

“What’s his name?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri opens his mouth, then shuts it quickly, returning to his constant state of blushing. _Why did he bring up the dog?_ “Um, his name is Vicchan,” he says shyly.

Viktor just smiles, either completely unaware of the fact that Yuuri’s dog is named after him or just ignoring it. “I have a poodle too, you know,” he says.

Which Yuuri did know, of course. And he wouldn’t necessarily say that he brought up Vicchan specifically because he knew that, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped it would help to ease him into actually having a conversation with Viktor.

But he pretends he didn’t know, because creepy stalker fans don’t typically get any closer than this to Viktor and definitely don’t get to audition for America’s Next Top Model. “What’s your poodle’s name?” he asks, smiling.

“Makkachin,” Viktor says excitedly, “he’s almost eleven years old, and—”

Chris cuts Viktor off with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, “if we let him start on about his dog we won’t ever finish this interview.”

Viktor grins shamelessly. “He’s not wrong,” he admits, shrugging. “But I guess we should move on.” He looks back at his notes and mumbles to himself as he checks a few things off. “Ah, yes—can you tell us about the most difficult experience you’ve ever had?”

The segue is jarring and sudden, and Yuuri has no idea to respond. Scratch that—he does know how to respond, but he doesn’t _want_ to. He _desperately_ doesn’t want to. The judges all stare at him with piercing interest as he fidgets, trying to find a workaround. “Um,” he whispers, “it’s not something I really talk about?”

Viktor goes to speak but is interrupted by Lilia, who speaks for the first time since Yuuri entered the room. “You know you’re auditioning for a television show watched by millions?” she mentions. “All of your privacy will be thrown out the window if you make it on.”

“I—I know,” Yuuri stammers.

“And what would you do if this show made you famous?” she continues, ruthless. “We, of all people, can attest to the fact that even though privacy is valued, you aren’t going to get it if you come out on top.”

“Lilia, let him get a word in,” Chris huffs.

“I’m just explaining to him the reality of being in a position of this nature,” she explains sharply.

“I think he got that,” Chris says, quirking a brow.

“Well, surely he has to understand to be successful in this field.”

“We tend to transition them a little more slowly than you’re going right now.”

“I have anxiety,” Yuuri blurts out.

The judges quiet again and return their attention to him, unwavering. Viktor, particularly, suddenly looks enraptured. Yuuri takes a slow breath, blinking back the tears that started gathering in his eyes. “Um, really—very bad anxiety,” he whispers. “I always have, I think? I just—I don’t like to talk about it because it makes it worse, and—and, um, that’s all.”

He looks down at the floor, not wanting to see the pity on their faces. It’s guaranteed to be there, it almost always is, which is why he stopped rambling. No point in continuing to explain when they’ve already stopped listening, already have an idea of him in their minds.

He wishes he could just walk out without being disrespectful. It’s clear he isn’t meant to be here. Why did he _ever_ want to be here in the first place?

“Yuuri, I apologize,” Lilia says.

Yuuri shakes his head, lips wobbling. “It’s fine,” he mumbles. “You were right, I shouldn’t expect people not to ask about it here, it’s not like it’s not. Obvious.”

“No,” Viktor chimes in, “she was wrong.”

Hesitantly, Yuuri glances up. Where he expected to see pity on Viktor’s face he sees… empathy? A deeply personal connection that Yuuri doesn’t understand, but the sight of it sends a warm rush of gratitude through his body.

“Illness of any kind is extremely personal and one of the most difficult experiences anyone could be going through,” Viktor insists. “There’s no reason we would force you to talk about it in front of anyone on the show, so we don’t have to keep talking about it here. We’re dropping the subject now.”

The other two judges shift uncomfortably and rifle through their papers to look busy. Viktor is still looking at Yuuri in such a personal way, with some kind of sadness in his expression, that Yuuri doesn’t know how to react.

“Thank you,” he says simply, feeling inadequate.

Viktor nods, finally dropping his gaze and going back to his own papers. He clears this throat. “Just a few more questions,” he promises. That bright smile from when Yuuri first walked into the room starts to return to his face, but Yuuri realizes now that it’s empty. He wonders if Viktor was faking it the entire time.

“So,” Viktor continues, straightening up, “You have a degree in design. I’m guessing you can name at least five of the most topical supermodels in the world right now?”

Yuuri nods, shaking himself of the weird, confusing thoughts running circles around his mind. “Um, Gisele Bundchen, Gigi Hadid, Karlie Kloss, um… Natalia Vodianova, Lily Aldrin, Kate Moss—”

“Okay, okay,” Viktor laughs. “You got five, good job. Just one more question, then.”

He pauses dramatically and Chris snorts, shaking his head and smiling. Yuuri looks between them both, confused.

Viktor smiles. “Are you ready to change into your bathing suit?”

◇  ◇  ◇

Yuuri’s reflection taunts him, riles his anxiety up to the max. Well, his _ten_ reflections in the mirrors that line the walls, floor to ceiling, of the dressing room he was ushered into by the same crew member from earlier.

He knows his body positivity problems aren’t unfounded—his weight has fluctuated constantly throughout his life. He was teased about it so often as a kid that the teasing started coming from inside his own head, the thoughts so pervasive that he couldn’t get away from them even when he was alone. It resulted in his first trip to a therapist, his first prescription anxiety medication; the first time he felt he was disappointing his family.

He also knows that those feelings were wrong, that his weight right now is _healthy_ , and that he may not be as toned as some of the other models here, but that’s not what matters.

Still, he can’t keep his mind quiet while he makes sure his bathing suit still fits well in all the right places. He wishes it wasn’t so damn _tight_. Phichit was the one who convinced him to go with this one, to show off ‘the goods,’ to display some confidence even though he has none.

He screws up his face, frowning at himself in the mirror. He worked out for months to get to a point where he was comfortable taking nearly-nude photos. He knows for a _fact_ that if he gets on the show he’s going to have to pose in nearly no clothing at one point or another. There have even been completely nude photoshoots in the past. Yuuri prepared himself for these possibilities.

Of course, his anxiety then caused him to over-prepare, and once he make himself sick after running on the treadmill for three hours he made himself tone it down for his own safety.

Despite all of this, and despite knowing that, objectively, he is somewhat good-looking—he has to be, from someone’s standpoint, if he’s _here,_ chosen from thousands of people to be here—his dysmorphia keeps creeping up in the back of his mind. He does his best to push it down and deal with it later, specifically because he doesn’t have much time to sit here and hate the just-barely-visible stretch marks around his waistline.

With Phichit’s help his confidence has grown immensely. He practically owes this whole experience to Phichit, who got him just tipsy enough to pep-talk him into applying for the show, helped him make his audition video, took extra photos of him for his portfolio, and forced him onto the plane to Los Angeles when he wanted to turn around and lie on their couch like a depressed lump instead.

At the very least, he has to force himself out in front of his lifelong idol and crush, almost completely naked, for Phichit.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, envisioning a world where he would look perfect doing this, and he marches to the door. The crew member is still waiting outside, and looking bored. Yuuri wraps his arms around himself protectively and follows him back to the judging room. Giving himself less time to panic than before, he pushes through the door right away.

He’s done runway before but they were mediocre shows, far less important than this make-or-break moment—possibly the biggest moment of his entire _career_. And even though that’s the scariest thought he’s ever had, he knows somewhere within him that he can _do_ this.

He’s here because he wants to win, and even more so, he’s here to impress Viktor.

With a nod, he drops his arms from around his stomach, pushes his shoulders back, holds his chin up, and strides out from behind the wall.

In the back of his mind he knows all three of the judges are eyeing him up and down, but all Yuuri sees is Viktor staring at him with the most concentrated, critical, intense gaze he’s ever been the victim of. His heart stutters but he doesn’t trip over his own feet; he struts down the catwalk, hoping he isn’t exaggerating the way he moves, and poses—one arm resting over his head, the other at his side, hips cocked, and eyes boring into Viktor’s.

And maybe it’s his imagination, but he’s pretty sure he sees a light flush rise on Viktor’s cheeks right under that intense gaze. Yuuri smirks, drops his arm, and leaves the room.

The door shuts behind him and, after a moment of recovery, he nearly falls to the floor; his entire body is trembling, and he starts hyperventilating again.

Why, _why_ did he pose like _that?_ It was _way_ too feminine, too provocative, and _nothing_ they could have been looking for in a male model.

Everything he’d practiced over the past few weeks had disappeared from his mind while he was out there. He’s never been particularly butch in style or personality, but he knows that male models are constantly being ragged on for acting too effeminate when the industry is already dominated by women.

He groans and drops his face into his hands, letting his angry tears start to fall. He got too caught up in trying to be, what, _seductive?_ He probably dashed any chance he had of even getting on the show, let alone winning.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to find the same crew member—and god, is he the only one who works here?—looking at him with as little concern as possible. “Mr. Katsuki,” he says, “would you like to change back into your clothes?”

◇  ◇  ◇

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Phichit says, shrugging. “So you posed like a twink, whatever. I’m sure it was hot.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Yuuri whines, hiding his face in his pillow.

“Besides, everyone knows Viktor is gayer than the both of us combined,” Phichit points out. “I doubt he’s going to disqualify you because you went for a feminine look.”

Yuuri lifts his head to shoot Phichit a glaringly skeptical look. “Even if that’s true, you know he’s not the only one who makes the decision.”

Phichit sighs, climbing off of his bed and onto Yuuri’s. “You’re overthinking this,” he says.

“I _know_ ,” Yuuri agrees mournfully, “but that doesn’t _help_.”

“Do you want sympathy or encouragement?” Phichit asks. “I can’t help unless I know what you’re looking for.”

Yuuri sighs, hugging his pillow to his chest. He knows Phichit is just trying help, but he doesn’t want either of those things. He wants to wallow. He wants someone to acknowledge the fact that he feels terrible and just let him feel terrible for a minute. But Phichit doesn’t deserve to be shot down every time he attempts console Yuuri. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbles. “I’m being difficult.”

“No, you’re just being Yuuri,” Phichit says, smiling. “You know I’ll never get mad at you for being you.”

Yuuri nods. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“You can thank me once you’ve won America’s Next Top Model and you invite me to all the cool model parties,” Phichit says. Yuuri laughs sadly and sniffles, and Phichit ruffles his hair. “Want to go get some tea?”

Yuuri smiles and Phichit nudges him up and off the bed. “Thank you,” Yuuri repeats, trying to communicate as much sincerity as he possibly can.

“You’re welcome,” Phichit says, “but I demand to see that pose later in return for all my kindness.”

“No one is _ever_ seeing that pose again,” Yuuri groans.

Phichit snickers and follows Yuuri out the door and to the elevators. They go down to the hotel lobby in search of the drink station they’ve only seen in brief passing, between getting their pictures taken at the first photoshoot yesterday, the first round of eliminations, and the interviews today.

Thinking about the fact that he even made it through the first round, that right now Viktor and two other incredible talented fashion professionals are deciding whether or not he’ll make it through the second round, Yuuri is shocked he’s not more panicked than he is at the moment.

He knows he doesn’t make the most charming first impressions; the anxiety stew constantly bubbling in the back of his mind makes sure of that. But, at the same time, Viktor seemed to respond so warmly to him during the interview. It was a bit of a mess, but Viktor defended him. He still has Lilia and Chris to worry about, though, and he was so starstruck that he barely remembered that their opinions are just as important as Viktor’s.

They find the drinks and Yuuri searches through the messy basket of tea packets until he finds plain green tea. He sighs gratefully and assembles everything while Phichit gets himself some coffee, which he seems to be able to drink no matter what time it is.

While he waits for his tea to steep, Yuuri looks around the hotel lobby, still moderately awed by how nice it is. His family has never been exceptionally poor, but they didn’t really have the expendable funds to go on big trips together or stay in nice hotels. He grew up with the onsen, which was plenty for him. He’d never even been to the US until he moved out for college, and now he’s in Los Angeles, auditioning for America’s Next Top Model. It’s surreal and incredible and he doesn’t quite know how to express how grateful he is, nor does he know who he would express it to, so he keeps it to himself.

He sees a few fellow competitors sitting around by an electric fireplace and chatting. One of them is the gorgeous guy who went on before Yuuri earlier, Leo, and Phichit notices him at the same time.

“God, Viktor is like gay santa,” Phichit says, licking his lips. “Changing all the rules so he can shove us into a house with a bunch of hot male models. I don’t know how I can ever repay him.”

“We haven’t even made it on the show yet,” Yuuri points out.

Phichit shrugs. “We will. And if we don’t, I’ll still get his number before we cry our way back home.”

Yuuri shakes his head, unable to keep himself from smiling. “You know, not all male models are gay.”

“More often than not!” Phichit rebuts. “Me. You. Viktor. Chris. _Him_ , I hope.”

Yuuri laughs. “You can go over there if you want.”

Phichit looks at him, clearly eager to do just that. “Are you sure?”

Yuuri nods. “Go ahead,” he insists. “I think I might take a nap.”

Phichit bounces excited and pulls Yuuri in for a quick hug. “I’ll give you all the deets later!” he promises, already skipping away.

Yuuri smiles and grabs his tea, heading back toward the elevators. He _is_ pretty exhausted after his various breakdowns throughout the day and the hotel beds are ridiculously comfortable, so a nap sounds fantastic. He hits the call button and keeps looking around while he waits for the elevator. There are a couple more contestants lounging around nearby, just within earshot; a red-haired girl, some blond alternative-punk kid who must barely be eighteen, and a stoic-looking guy around Phichit's age.

He tunes in, unable to focus on anything else in the quiet of the elevator nook. They’re talking about the other contestants, as casually as though they were watching the show without their own involvement.

“I think we’re all in,” the redhead says. “Probably Leo and Sara, too.”

“And that ass, JJ,” the punk huffs. “Of fucking course.”

“He’s not that bad,” the redhead insists. “You’re too harsh, Yuri.”

Yuuri perks at the sound of his name, blushing and leaning over to see if they’re talking about him. They don’t even notice he’s there, so one of the two guys must also be named Yuri—presumably the punk.

Other Yuri scoffs and kicks his feet up onto the end table. He mutters something in what _sounds_ like Russian, as far as Yuuri can tell from obsessively watching interviews about Viktor, and the redhead smacks his leg, responding in the same language.

“Whatever, you know he’s a whore,” Yuri says. “Him and the stringbean trying to hit up Leo right now. They’re going to be the ones too distracted by everyone else to stay in the competition.”

Yuuri nearly defends Phichit aloud before realizing they don’t know he’s listening in. His face burns angrily nonetheless.

“Well, easier for us to stay in,” the redhead says.

Yuri snorts. “Mila, I already saw you flirting with Sara backstage earlier. You won’t make it to the end either.” Mila scoffs, offended. Yuuri just shrugs and crosses his arms. “It’s going to be me, Otabek, and Isabella at the end, guaranteed.”

“Arrogant,” Mila tuts. “Who do you think is going out first?”

The elevator arrives and dings loudly, making Yuuri jump. Mila and the stoic guy—Otabek?—don’t react to the sound, but Yuri looks up and sees him, making hard, glaring eye contact.

“The fat Japanese kid,” Yuri says, twisting his lips into a rude smirk. “The one who had a panic attack in the middle of the waiting area. He probably won’t even make it into the house.”

Yuuri’s throat closes up and he feels hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He looks away immediately, shoving his arm into the closing elevator door to stop it from shutting, and slipping inside. He can hear Mila berating Yuri as the door closes, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He hits his floor number repeatedly until the elevator moves, and then lets his tears overflow.

Months of confidence building, working out, eating healthy to the point that he can barely stand the sight of romaine lettuce anymore, only to be knocked back down by an immature little punk.

Yuuri loathes himself even more for it. He should be able to move past snide remarks from insecure kids, but here he is, crying in an elevator because of it.

The doors open to his floor and he hurries back to his room, wrestling with the key card before eventually managing to shove his way inside. He drops his tea on the table and goes straight to his bed. He crawls under the duvet and chokes out a sob as he shoves his face into his pillow.

He’s pathetic. Childish; thin-skinned; you name it. His insecurities from the rest of the day start flooding in too, and he’s spiralling before he can stop himself.

The judges _had_ to have seen right through any defences he’d managed to put up. They’ll know he won’t be able to stomach living in a house with these people for two months, being constantly scrutinized by his contestants and the judges alike.

He should leave—just disappear before he has to be told to go, before he has to listen to his lifelong idol tell him he’s _not good enough._

He cries until he can’t breathe, chest rattling, body shaking with silent sobs. His hands, clutching two fistfuls of the sheets, are tremoring. His sobbing breaks into coughing when he starts choking on his own tears and he forces deep, broken breaths into his lungs. He lets go of the sheets and wraps his arms around himself tightly. His crying tapers off as he curls into the fetal position, rubbing his face against his pillow.

“ _Stupid_ ,” he whispers. He takes a stuttering breath and sniffs, wiping at his nose. “Stupid, stupid.”

When he can breathe properly again he sits up slowly, face tingling from the lack of oxygen after crying so hard. He stands and shuffles to the bathroom, avoiding his reflection. He hates how much of an ugly crier he is, puffy face, red nose, and all. He splashes his face with cold water and rinses his eyes until the stinging is gone, leaving just the heavy, swollen feeling.

He goes back to his bed right after, hiding away under the duvet again. He has to flip his pillow because he made a damp spot, and the cool dryness of the pillowcase soothes his heated face.

Luckily, Yuuri’s anxiety has quieted to a simmer again. He always feels better after he cries. It usually serves to make him feel pathetic, but it’s okay right now. Letting everything out after keeping it in as much as he could all day was… cathartic.

His eyes shut and he sighs out shaky relief. He’s ready to accept that he’s going home tonight. Other Yuri was right.

All he has to do is wait.

◇  ◇  ◇

Being surrounded by twenty-two people filled with as much anxiety as Yuuri typically harbors himself is not how he, ideally, would like to spend the evening after a day filled with panic attacks. His self-care preferences typically include sleeping the rest of the day and eating pizza on the couch, but he doesn’t have much of a choice here. He has to suffer through one more round of humiliation before he can go back to the hotel and rest until his flight back to Detroit.

He scuffs his feet while he waits, fiddling with his tie but never getting it to feel less tight around his neck. Phichit is practically vibrating next to him, so excited he can hardly stand still.

Yuuri didn’t tell Phichit about his meltdown in the hotel room. He’d fallen asleep right after and hadn’t woken up until Phichit came bursting into the room babbling about getting lunch with Leo. There’s no point in trying to interrupt Phichit once he gets going, so he’d just listened to him while they got ready for the night and kept things to himself.

He knows that he’s going home today. It was a long shot that he would even make it to one-on-one auditions; the chances of actually making it into the house are pathetically low, and he recognizes that. It’s not a happy thought, but he’s ready.

He’s _really_ ready at this point, because they’ve been standing outside in the dark for at least twenty minutes while the crew works on setting everything up. The tape on the mix pack strapped to Yuuri’s back is making his skin crawl and itch and the humidity is driving him crazy. He’s kicking himself for not taking the opportunity after his breakdown earlier to unceremoniously back out of the competition.

“God, how much _longer_ is it going to be?” Phichit whispers, bouncing on the balls of his feet, completely thrilled by the anticipation.

“I know,” Yuuri mutters. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Yuuri, you _have_ to be more positive,” Phichit insists.

“I’m not being negative,” Yuuri pouts. “I’m just… keeping my hopes down. I don’t want to be disappointed.”

Phichit lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Well,” he bargains, “at least it’ll be a pleasant surprise when you do make it in.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to argue, but is cut off by the three rapid flashes from one of the spotlights aimed at them. Everyone quiets immediately. One of the crew members strides out and gestures for the first person in their line—an olive-skinned girl with lank black hair—to follow him.

He leads the dead silent group a few yards over, down a stone-lined path. As they wander further, they can see a massive house starting to take shape, a warm orange light flowing through dozens of windows and illuminating the space around it. The path eventually opens to a charming garden, at the far end of which stands none other than Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri’s heart crawls into his throat as they walk closer to Viktor’s end of the garden. He doesn’t even notice the person in front of him stop moving, and accidentally runs into her. He blushes brightly and hides his face, glad for the relative darkness even in the lit garden. He mumbles an apology and readjusts his glasses so he can continue to gawp at Viktor.

Who, of course, looks stunning, and Yuuri can only hope it’s not completely obvious how openly he’s staring. The warm garden lights illuminate and soften Viktor’s typically harsh features; the sharpness of his jaw is diminished and his bright gaze is dimmed, leaving a kind look on his face. His hair is styled as usual, bangs just barely out of his eyes and offset by his extremely well-tailored, oxford-blue suit. As Viktor scans over the crowd of contestants he briefly meets eyes with Yuuri and smiles a bit wider and Yuuri squeaks quietly in response.

Phichit snickers to the side and Yuuri comes back to reality, blushing again. At least once he goes home he can fawn over Viktor in _peace._

The crew member who led them out arranges them in an organized cluster and walks away, giving Viktor the okay before he disappears. Viktor straightens up, puts on a charming-yet-serious expression, and begins.

“Hello models,” he says, smiling. “For starters, congratulations on making it this far. I know you’ve all worked extremely hard, and you’re all very talented. Unfortunately, though, I can only have fourteen of you in the model house. My permit _does_ have limits.”

A few people titter nervously and Viktor chuckles at his own joke. Yuuri’s heart skips at the sound.

“I have the final fourteen competitors’ photos in my hand,” Viktor continues, “the final fourteen who get to fight for a one-hundred-thousand dollar modeling contract and the title of America’s Next Top Model. If and when I call your name, you come get your picture and wait with your fellow models to go to the house. Makes sense, da?”

Everyone nods and mumbles their agreement, which seems to be good enough for Viktor. “ _Fantastika_ ,” he exclaims, “I love this part—so dramatic!”

And though his excitement is so cute that Yuuri could scream, he feels like he’d be breaking an unspoken rule if he even let out a giggle. He’s been so distracted by Viktor since they got out here that he forgot the people around him are waiting to hear the most important news of their lives. The air went cold around his fellow contestants extremely quickly with the prospect of sending half the group home and Yuuri hadn’t even noticed.

Viktor looks at them all, eyes alight with anticipation. “The first person entering the model house this cycle is…” He trails off dramatically, a delighted smile creeping up on his face. “Isabella Yang.”

There’s an excited cry to the left and everyone whips their heads around to look as Isabella stumbles forward, tears streaming down her face. Viktor beams and hands her photograph to her, whispering something that none of the rest of them can hear. She nods and wipes her eyes, smiling as she wanders off to the side, waiting for the others to join her.

Viktor returns his attention to the remaining hopefuls and Yuuri can sense the collective anxiety of the group shoot through the roof.

“The next contestant,” Viktor continues, clearly loving how enthralled everyone is by the drama, “is… Sara Crispino.”

The owner of the name is the olive-skinned girl from the front of the line and she practically runs up to Viktor, hugging him excitedly before going off to join Isabella.

And then goes Leo—with Phichit’s eyes trailing after him the whole way—and then Mila, the redhead from earlier, and then Otabek Altin, the stoic one, Guang-Hong Ji, Georgi Popovich, and Anya Ilyich.

When Viktor calls Phichit’s name, Yuuri nearly cries. He’s so proud to see his best friend moving forward even if he doesn’t get to go along for the ride. Phichit shoots him a thumbs up from the other side and Yuuri smiles and slyly shoots one back.

“There are only five spaces left in the house,” Viktor says, after calling up Yuuko Nishigori. “And the next person joining the models behind me is… Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri’s heart stops in its tracks and his eyes widen violently. He looks up at Viktor in disbelief and Viktor nods, smiling sweetly.

He… actually said Yuuri’s name.

Yuuri finds himself stepping forward, propelled by whatever force within him is still alive and kicking to make it to the top. He reaches Viktor and timidly takes the photo in his idol’s outstretched hand.

It’s the audition photo from the shoot he and the other models did yesterday, right before the first cut. In his own eyes, he looks insignificant; meek and shy of his own body, hunched and curled into himself in a way that hides as much of his body as he could manage.

But the judges must have seen something different. _Viktor_ must have seen something different.

“I can see you stuck in your own head out there,” Viktor murmurs, eyes twinkling. Yuuri looks up from the photo shyly. “You’ve got something special, Yuuri. Don’t count your losses before the game is over, da?”

Yuuri blushes brightly and nods. He knows he’s completely unable to respond coherently, so he just whispers a thank-you and stumbles off to the group of contestants, where Phichit greets him with a spine-crushing hug.

Yuuri slumps into Phichit’s arms in utter disbelief. “I did it?” he asks.

“You fucking did it!” Phichit whisper-shouts. He pulls back to grin at Yuuri and Yuuri laughs bewilderedly, wiping at his eyes when he realises he’s started crying. Phichit reels him back in and squeezes him tight, clinging to him as Viktor continues to call the models forward; Yuri Plisetsky—the punk from the hotel, who shoots Yuuri a deadly look on his way over to the group—Seung-gil Lee, and JJ Leroy, whose name Viktor says with a vague distaste which Yuuri is sure only amplifies after JJ attempts to fist-bump him.

When all fourteen official competitors have been called over to the other side, Viktor walks up to the remaining eight models and sends them away with words of comfort and motivation.

Yuuri is in utter shock that he’s not one of them; he’s _staying._

Then Viktor turns around and walks up to the group of competitors. He smiles at them proudly. “Congratulations, everyone!” he exclaims, encouraging them to celebrate.

The models shout and cheer—Phichit screams so loudly that Yuuri briefly loses hearing in his left ear—but Yuuri just grins, still in complete and utter denial. He meets eyes with Viktor, whose expression softens warmly.

“You’re all moving on in the competition,” Viktor continues once everyone has quieted. “Over the next two months I’ll be teaching you everything I know and helping you become successful models. After all, you’re practically children compared to me! You have a lot to learn and I’ll show you how to surprise your audience and express a different side of yourself every time you model.”

“In the _meantime_ ,” he continues, “it’s getting late and I have to go home and feed my dog. So, why don’t you all go and rest, too?”

The group collectively screams again in response and Viktor laughs, the sound drowned out by the models. Phichit jostles Yuuri excitedly and Yuuri grins. Viktor gestures behind the group and they all turn, gazing at the house behind them.

“Models,” Viktor concludes, “welcome to your new home.”


	2. Survive the First Week and Don't Get Too Drunk!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the _fuck_ did you just say?” Yuri demands, leaning forward threateningly.
> 
> Yuuri shrugs, reveling in the warm rush of confidence from the alcohol he definitely should _not_ have had. “I’ve only known you for a day but all I’ve seen you do is insult people,” he says. “Have you tried just... shutting the fuck up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let the record show i warned y'all that regular updates don't exist in my world
> 
> lots of love to my bff elizabeth [yuriktsuki](http://yuriktsuki.tumblr.com/) for editing for me !! luv u bish

In the spirit of Top Model tradition, once Viktor sends away the models who didn’t make it onto the show he cuts the fourteen official contenders loose and lets them race into the house.

When watching the show in the past, Yuuri had always assumed that the antics of the house were exaggerated through the magic of TV editing. Really, in what world do a group of adults fight over beds and shower time and have actual reality-show drama on the daily?

This world, apparently. The second the models get inside the house it’s a mad dash for the bedrooms. Yuuri barely realizes what’s happening and he doesn’t have a chance to orient himself because Phichit grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags him up the stairs.

With a bit of luck—and one near-concussion when Yuuri’s head hits a doorframe—they manage to snag two beds side-by-side, which Yuuri guards while Phichit retrieves their luggage from downstairs.

Leo, Guang-Hong, and Seung-gil end up as their roommates. As far as Yuuri can tell, Guang-Hong and Seung-gil are just as introverted as himself, which is a relief. They barely spoke during the audition phase and haven’t made a single effort to communicate with him, so he’ll take it. Phichit is always a handful, but Yuuri has two years of experience living with Phichit and knows that he’ll be so fiercely focused on the competition that he’ll be too distracted to bother Yuuri relentlessly. As for Leo, he seems nice enough and Phichit has decent taste in guys, so Yuuri dares to hope for the best. If he’s lucky, his roommates will at least be kind enough to let him cry alone after photoshoots.

God, he’s going to get to do photoshoots; he’s going to get to _model_.

He never thought he would get this far—not only in the competition, but in his career. Sure, he’s done amateur modeling and a few runway shows for school, but he’s auditioned for dozens of real gigs and even gotten a few, only to end up choking before he even showed up to the job.

Even if he doesn’t win, being able to say that he was on America’s Next Top Model, that one of the most famous and influential models in the world _saw something_ in him, could change his life.

No one has ever taken this big a chance on him and he doesn’t want to give it up now that he has it. He wants to prove to Viktor and the other judges that voting him into this competition was the right decision.

When Phichit returns with their bags he only stays in the room long enough to grab his pyjamas before he disappears again. Yuuri is partly relieved that he’s able to take a break from his friend, but he's also now alone with his roommates, who he doesn’t want to talk to without Phichit by his side. He decides to do the responsible thing and avoid everyone by unpacking.

Even though he majored in design, his wardrobe doesn’t have a lot of variety. He wears things that make him feel comfortable, which usually means jeans and a baggy t-shirt or sweater. He knows he’s going to get a lot of criticism from the judges for it and he makes a note to ask Phichit to take him shopping on one of their free days. It won’t be difficult to convince him, but it _will_ be hard not to spend too much on clothes because they’re in the middle of L.A. and a three-pack of crew socks costs ten bucks alone. Yuuri only has so much allowance to spend, most of which he’s planning on putting towards food.

 _Healthy food_ , he reminds himself, because he can’t afford to binge on junk food when he gets stressed out like he would at home. He shouldn’t have done it at home either, but at home the biggest opportunity of his life wasn’t at stake. He can’t risk putting on any weight while he’s here, so he can’t overeat and he definitely can’t stop working out.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know _how_ he’s going to work out—he can’t leave the property to run except on their weekly free day and he doesn’t know if there’s any kind of gym in the house.

Yuuri frowns and sets a pile of t-shirts aside so he can go explore. The rest of the models are chattering excitedly throughout the house and their voices bounce back and forth off the walls abrasively. There are two other bedrooms and it looks like everyone managed to claim a bed without starting a fist fight. Yuuri hurries down the hall in an attempt to avoid being noticed. He knows he’s going to end up interacting with everyone here at one point, but if he tries hard enough he might be able to avoid it for as long as possible.

As long as humanly possible, specifically because he knows he’s going to end up running into Yuri Plisetsky, who is probably not thrilled about Yuuri making it into the model house.

He shakes the thought out of his head and starts his exploration. He finds a living room, kitchen, dining area, three bathrooms—making a total of five, which is outrageous—an entertainment room, a locked glittering gold door with the words ‘Best Picture’ painted on it, a giant catwalk with mirrored floors and a special effects screen, and— _finally_ —a gym.

It’s got everything he needs and more, and it’s way higher-tech than the university gym back home. The best part of this entire situation is that he doesn’t have to work out in front of everyone, either—he can sneak down at night after everyone has gone to bed and exercise in peace. The university gym closed at six, so Yuuri had had to stake the place out for weeks to figure out when the fewest people were there, which didn’t help. Even when the place was pretty much empty, he felt like people were watching him. He could only force himself to go a few times a week, if that, so he started running at night too.

He can’t run here, but he’s happy to trade that for solitude. He smiles and shuts the lights off as he leaves the gym, feeling satisfied.

On his way back to his bedroom he finds a group of the other models gathering in the living room. Phichit is one of them, and he grins when he sees Yuuri skirting the wall in an attempt to be ignored. He hurries over and grabs Yuuri’s arm to stop him, shoving a cup into his hand.

“You need to drink,” he says.

“Phichit, I can’t drink _here_ ,” Yuuri protests.

“You don’t have to get _drunk_ ,” Phichit promises. “We know better than that—we remember last time.”

Yuuri turns bright red, remembering _last time_ —well, as much as he _can_ remember, because after he took his shirt off in the middle of the club he blacked out and woke up on the bathroom floor the next day.

Phichit smiles warmly and leans in, lowering his voice so no one else will hear him. “I know you don’t like being around this many people and I thought a drink might help you loosen up,” he explains.

Yuuri looks down at the cup and wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like to drink around strangers and he’s not much of a beer fan. “Do I have to be around them?” he pouts. “I could just go to bed.”

“At eight o’clock?” Phichit asks, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Yuuri sighs reluctantly. He knows Phichit is right—he has to at least pretend to be sociable and there’s no way he’s going to relax around these people unless he has some kind of mood-altering substance in his system.

With a deep breath he downs the entire drink, choking on the taste. He coughs and grimaces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s _awful_ ,” he complains.

“The only thing in the fridge was Bud Light,” Phichit shrugs. Yuuri sticks his tongue out in disgust and Phichit laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He pulls Yuuri over to where the other models are lounging around and drinking.

Leo, Sara, Mila, Guang-Hong, and Yuuko all introduce themselves and seem relatively unfazed by Yuuri’s social incompetence, which is a relief. There’s always one weird, quiet person in the house, and this season it’s him. Quite a way to kick off the first season with male models in the running—maybe he’ll make them reconsider.

He shakes the thought out of his head, trying to stay positive. It’s just like his first hall at university. Half-assed conversations during the day and forced social activities until he can retreat to his dorm at night. He survived a year of it back then and he can make it two through months of it now.

He finishes his drink and Phichit offers to refill it for him, forcing him to stay and socialize. He doesn’t say much, but he never does; he’s always been the one at parties who hugs the wall and hides in the kitchen with the party thrower’s dog. There’s no dog here to distract himself with, so he just listens in, learning about his fellow competitors and actually starting to relax.

That is, until Yuri shows up. Yuuri tenses up at the sight of him, his mouth going dry anxiously. Yuri doesn’t take any note of him at first and Yuuri starts making escape plans, but he doesn’t get a chance to dip out because Phichit returns with his drink.

Yuri is accompanied by Otabek, Anya, and Georgi, who brandishes a bottle of vodka proudly. “I’ve got Smirnoff,” he sings, wiggling the bottle in the air.

“Oh, yes!” Mila exclaims, hopping to her feet. “Shots!”

Georgi snorts. “Not for you, _rebonok_ ,” he tuts. “This isn’t Russia. No one under twenty-one drinks anything of mine.”

Mila pouts and drops back onto the couch indignantly. Yuri rolls his eyes and drops into the nearest armchair, kicking his feet up on a side table. “Geezer,” he mutters. “It’s not like the cameras are on right now.”

“How do you even have vodka?” Phichit pipes up. “No one has had any time to go shopping. Did you bring that on the plane?”

Georgi grins as he swans off toward the kitchen. “You can’t take Russia out of the Russian,” he proclaims. “Shots for the _adults_ on me!”

A few of the models get up and follow him at the promise of alcohol stronger than their piss-flavored beer. Phichit looks at his cup sadly; Yuuri knows he wants to go get something stronger, but Georgi is right. A fake ID is no good on reality TV and Phichit wants to win just as badly as everyone else here.

Yuuri does too, which is why at first he doesn’t follow everyone into the kitchen, avoiding the risk of embarrassing himself beyond belief.

At first. But once half the models left the room, Yuri spotted Yuuri right away. He can see Yuri glaring at him in his peripheral vision and he tries _desperately_ to ignore it, but a look that deadly is hard to brush off. What did he even do to _deserve_ that look? Did he step on Yuri’s foot and not realize it?

And when the glaring doesn’t work, he starts with outright insults. “So,” Yuri says, crossing his arms, “the pig made it into the house.”

Yuuri turns bright red, continuing to avoid eye contact. Mila reprimands Yuri for being rude and Yuuri can feel Phichit tense up next to him. He shakes his head subtly, hoping it calls his friend off for now.

Phichit relents, but Yuri doesn’t, of course. “I’m just surprised that the judges thought _he_ was one of the best options to represent male models for the first time,” he explains, as though it makes his insult any more reasonable.

“Like a little asswipe with low self-esteem is any better,” Phichit mutters, rolling his eyes.

Yuuri whips his head around to shoot Phichit a dirty look. “Got something to say, fag?” he challenges.

And _that’s_ the trigger. Yuuri may not have an ounce of self-preservation, but there’s no chance in hell he’s going to let some insecure punk attack his best friend.

He gets up off the couch and marches into the kitchen, snatching an empty shot glass off the counter next to Georgi. He, Anya, and Yuuko all look at Yuuri in surprise. Yuuri doesn’t even ask for a drink—he just holds the glass out and waits for it to be filled. Luckily, Georgi seems more impressed than upset by his imposition and provides as promised. Yuuri downs the vodka, forcing himself not to gag, and holds the glass out a second time; rinse, repeat, a third time.

After the last shot he sets the glass back down delicately, winces as he holds back a cough, and hoarsely thanks Georgi for the drink. He waltzes back out to the living room and drops down on the couch next to Phichit, who eyes him with concern.

Sara is in the middle of telling Yuri off when Yuuri tunes back in. “You don’t have to be an ass just because you think you’re better than us,” she snaps. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Right, I should act all high and mighty like you,” Yuri argues, rolling his eyes. “Or pretend to be shy and quiet and pathetic like the rest of these losers. I’d prefer to be an ass.”

“Or you could shut the fuck up,” Yuuri suggests, smiling placidly.

Everyone goes silent, turning to gawp at him in shock.

“Uh oh,” Phichit whispers.

“What the _fuck_ did you say?” Yuri demands, leaning forward threateningly.

Yuuri shrugs, revelling in the warm rush of confidence from the alcohol he definitely should _not_ have had. _Danger, Will Robinson!_ “I’ve only known you for a day but all I’ve seen you do is insult people,” he says. “Have you tried... shutting the fuck up?”

Yuri opens his mouth but is so affronted that he can’t manage a response. A few of the models let out stunned laughter and Yuuri smirks, proud of himself.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, I _never_ expected that from you!” Mila exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t fucking encourage him!” Yuri exclaims.

“You really shouldn’t,” Phichit chimes in, furrowing his brows. “Yuuri, how many shots did you just do?”

Yuuri waves his hand dismissively. “Three,” he says.

Phichit furrows his brows in concentration. “Okay, two beers, three shots of vodka… you can only have one more before we enter the danger zone,” he calculates, letting out a little sigh of relief.

Yuuri has no clue how Phichit does this math—years of practice, he always says—but it never fails. The only time Yuuri ever makes it to blackout level is when he sneaks alcohol behind Phichit’s back and messes up the calculations.

“The _danger zone?_ ” Yuri asks. “The fuck is that?”

Yuuri snickers. “It’ll be when I kick—”

“When he _pushes his luck_ and I have to clean up after him,” Phichit interrupts, squinting at Yuuri in warning.

Yuuri grins at him. He knows he shouldn’t push Phichit—he’s the only one who ever tries to keep Yuuri from _really_ embarrassing himself—but he feels _so much better_ now that he’s drunk, and he wants to show this Yuri that he’s not someone who can be pushed around. He’s not some fat Japanese kid, he’s Yuuri Katsuki, and he’s _hot_ , and his confidence just needs a little liquid courage to bolster it.

“Only one more,” he promises. “No danger zone.”

Phichit squints at him for another second, making sure he won’t have to play nanny for the night, and eventually decides Yuuri is telling the truth. “Alright, you do you,” he shrugs, flopping back against the couch.

Yuri glowers at Yuuri and opens his mouth to insult him, but Yuuri starts blathering away first. “Yuuri, Yuri. What are the odds of two people with the same weird name getting into this house?” he wonders, scrunching up his eyebrows.

“Hey, my name’s not weird,” Yuri huffs.

“You’re so right,” Mila agrees, ignoring Yuri. “That’s going to be confusing. And how do you even make a nickname for that?”

Yuuri giggles to himself, remembering his own childhood nicknames. “My sister used to call me ‘ _Yuuri-ooooo_ ’ when we were younger and she was upset at me,” he says. He laughs again. “ _Yuuri-ooooo_.”

Mila laughs with him. “That’s so perfect for you, Yuri!” she says, grinning at Yuri.

“What?!” Yuri scoffs in disbelief. “He’s the one whose nickname it used to be!”

“Yeah, but you _look_ like a Yurio,” she insists.

“I do not!” he protests. “And there are dozens of other nicknames you could use. Yura, Yurochka—”

“He does kind of look like a Yurio,” Phichit agrees, smiling at Yuri spitefully. Leo, Guang-Hong, and Sara all nod in agreement.

“Yuuri and Yurio it is, then,” Mila decides, looking pleased. “Someone will have to tell Viktor at the first judging panel so they don’t get you two mixed up.”

Yuuri’s heart flutters at the mention of Viktor. Part of him had forgotten he’s going to get to continue to see Viktor for as long as he’s on the show. “I’ll tell him,” he offers, smiling and leaning his chin on his hand.

Yurio snorts, rolling his eyes. “Why, you didn’t get enough time to make googly eyes at him earlier? We could all see you, you know.”

Yuuri doesn’t even notice the sarcasm; Viktor is his favorite topic to drunkenly ramble about. “He looked so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. Sara and Mila giggle at his lovesick tone. “Did you guys look at his _eyes?_ They were so sparkly even though it was dark.”

“Yuuri’s got a _crush_ ,” Sara sings, with Mila laughing beside her.

“God, you don’t even know,” Phichit agrees.

“Oh, and his _smile_ ,” Yuuri continues, “his real smile was so nice. Did you guys notice he fakes his other smile a lot? Oh, and his _ass_ —”

“O-kay!” Phichit interrupts, hopping to his feet. “Sober Yuuri would _kill_ me for letting Drunk Yuuri babble like this, time for bed!”

Mila and Sara crack up and Yurio scowls as Phichit hoists Yuuri up off the couch. Yuuri trips forward and grabs Phichit’s arm for support, nearly bringing them both down. “Hey, wait, you said I could have one more shot,” he realizes, looking longingly at the kitchen.

“Nope,” Phichit says, dragging him toward the stairs, “you’ll thank me in the morning.”

◇  ◇  ◇

Yuuri does _not_ thank Phichit in the morning. He would have, had he been awake enough to conceptualize what gratitude felt like, but waking up is not his forte.

He sleeps through all three of his alarms and only wakes up when Phichit blasts a poorly recorded YouTube video of reveilles in his ear. He nearly hits Phichit in the face, Phichit rips the comforter off his bed—it’s like any other morning in the Katsuki-Chulanont residence, aside from the fact that they’re now living in an L.A. mansion with twelve other models.

Remembering that fact only makes Yuuri want to stay in bed even more, but it’s the day of the first challenge and he _can’t_ be late. Mostly because Phichit doesn’t let him stay in bed even after he burrows into his pillow and threatens to kill everyone in the room if he doesn’t get to keep sleeping.

He is notoriously _not_ a morning person.

It takes a lot of coaxing and a short wrestling match, but Yuuri eventually finds himself in the bathroom with an armful of clothes and his bottle of shampoo. He showers, dresses, and manages to tidy his hair out of his eyes before it’s time to leave. He doesn’t get to eat breakfast, but his extremely forgiving best friend gives him a granola bar on the bus. It helps to distract him while everyone who witnessed his drunken antics last night stares at him like they’re waiting for more.

He feels awful about what he said to Yurio. Well, he mostly does. The nickname is just the right amount of payback for how rude Yurio was to both himself and Phichit, but he does wish he hadn’t said the other things.

He can make up for it later. Right now, he has to focus on making a good impression on Chris.

The bus—which is more like a limo—brings the models to what looks like an empty shopping mall. It’s about eight in the morning, so none of the stores are open yet. Yuuri frowns, remembering past seasons of the show and wondering what challenge might be waiting for them.

When they all unload from the bus, they find Chris waiting outside a Nordstrom. He goes to speak but gets cut off by the majority of the models screaming excitedly. Yuuri winces, resisting the urge to cover his ears.

Chris laughs softly. “Good morning to you, too,” he greets, winking at them. “I hope you all slept well last night, because I have a challenge for you today. I’m hoping to get to know you all a bit more before our first official photoshoot tomorrow, and Viktor won’t let me take you each on a date, so this will have to do.”

A few of the models giggle and Phichit elbows Yuuri’s side with an excited grin. Yuuri does his best to smile without looking like a dead person—he’s excited to start modeling but he’s never done well under pressure, and a challenge sounds very pressuring.

“Today you’re all going to be creating two outfits that best express your style as a model,” Chris continues. “You can use anything in the store and the only requirement is that you make one casual outfit and one formal outfit. Sound easy enough?”

There’s a collective _yes!_ from the models, but Yuuri’s stomach twists violently. No guidelines, no rules, no hinted little suggestions as to what Chris actually wants to see at this race?

Complete creative freedom. It’s terrifying. Yuuri has never been one to take control; he happily considers himself a follower, not a leader. The last time he gave direction to himself was when he decided to take a book on his flight to L.A. instead of downloading a movie on his phone. Now, on their first challenge, he doesn’t get so much as a rubric to guide him. He’s well out of his depth already.

His growing panic goes unnoticed as Chris finishes his explanation of the challenge. “When I open these doors, you have five minutes to create your two outfits before meeting me by the second floor checkout. And your time starts… _now._ ”

Chris shoves the doors open and the models flood in and scatter in a split second. Yuuri finds himself frozen in the middle of the entryway, looking around frantically like a deer in headlights.

Two outfits that express who he is as a model. _Who the hell is he?_

If he were being brutally honest he would grab jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s trying to be impressive. Not too impressive, because that would be obvious and disingenuous—anyone who looks at him can tell he doesn’t waltz around wearing smoking jackets and Oxfords on the daily—but if he’s entirely true to himself he’ll get the lowest challenge score of the group.

After thirty seconds of standing still like an idiot he starts running in the direction of the men’s section. He doesn’t have time to stand around and panic. What would he wear if he could afford to shop anywhere other than Walmart and Ross? If he could walk into any store and pick out clothes that made him feel good and comfortable in his own skin?

He catches sight of a rack of shawl-collar sweaters and skitters over to it. Sweaters are always a good choice. He grabs a navy blue one in his size and the first pair of brown pants he sees, hoping he’s still the same size he was last time he checked. The colors mostly match and he’ll take it—he can’t have more than a minute or two left to grab the rest of the things he needs.

He finds a pair of black dress pants, a burgundy and blue dress shirt, and a matching tie before Chris uses the loudspeaker to start counting down from thirty. Yuuri squeaks anxiously and runs to grab the nearest matching pair of shoes he can find, then books it up the stairs.

He makes it to the checkout with two seconds to spare and drops his clothes in a heap on the floor so he can lean on a clothing display for support. If every challenge is going to be like this he might not have to keep working out as hard as he thought.

“Well done,” Chris compliments, smirking at them all. “I love the sight of beautiful, flushed faces. But don’t get too comfortable yet. You have one minute to change into your first outfit—go.”

Yuuri nearly whines out loud. He doesn’t want to change in front of all these people, let alone on camera for millions more to see, but he knew this was coming. He turns to Phichit for encouragement, but he and all the other models—aside from Seung-gil, who looks as uncomfortable as Yuuri feels—are already stripping their clothes off.

He doesn’t have time to ruminate on it but he can’t seem to make himself move. It was one thing to walk out in a bathing suit for the judges the other day and another thing entirely to bare himself to his competitors and give them the ammunition they need to knock his self confidence off the last rung of the ladder.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He has to just get it over with and deal with the taunts as they come.

Yuuri strips down to his underwear with his eyes still shut and only opens them when he’s completely undressed. He avoids eye contact with everyone as he frantically pulls on his casual outfit. In the back of his mind he knows that, rationally, everyone is so focused on winning that they aren’t looking at him. They aren’t taking in every flaw of his body or planning out how they’re going to hurt him later. But irrationally, he can feel every eye in the room on his stretch marks and the still-barely-there pudge of his stomach. Judging his style in clothing. Believing he can’t make it as a model.

He wants to prove them wrong. He wants _so badly_.

When the time is up Chris beckons the models forward and they all stand in a line, heads swivelling around to look at each others’ outfits. Yuuri stares straight ahead, cheeks flushed anxiously.

Chris tilts his head and smiles, taking a moment to look at each and every one of them. “Not bad,” he comments. “A few of you are playing it safe, I can tell.” He walks over to Isabella and nods approvingly. “I love your color combinations; very bold, not too obnoxious.”

He keeps wandering down the line, complimenting and criticising as he goes. JJ’s outfit is bordering on too casual, Seung-gil’s is too bland, Leo’s is modern and chic, Phichit’s is eclectic and unique.

When Chris reaches Yuuri he can feel his face heat up again and he scuffs his feet anxiously, standing up straighter. “I like where you were going with this,” he says, “but it seems a bit uninspired. It doesn’t suit you. You should explore more cutting-edge styles, stray away from the blue and brown. You’re not as average as you seem to think you are.”

Yuuri’s heart sinks as Chris continues on and compliments Yuuko, Mila, and Sara. He praises Yurio for his alternative style, after which Yuuri can feel his smugness from across the room.

Chris gives them another minute to change into their formal outfits and Yuuri does so without worrying about being stared at, mostly because he’s too focused on feeling disappointed in himself. He let himself overthink simple instructions and he’s probably going to end up on the low side of average on this challenge.

After the minute is up Chris makes the rounds again, giving everyone feedback.

He stops in front of Yuuri and quirks a brow with a playful look on his face. “You know you used the same pair of shoes for both outfits?” he points out.

Yuuri blushes brightly, his shoulders slumping. “Gomen—sorry,” he says pathetically. _Of course_.  He didn’t even think to grab a second pair of shoes. How could he mess up something so _simple?_

“People, you’re not playing in the minor leagues anymore,” Chris announces, backing away from the group. “During this competition we’re going to have you doing haute couture and avant garde, posing for international magazines and prestigious photoshoots—you can’t be afraid to take risks with your self expression.”

He keeps talking, but Yuuri stops listening. He’s not a risk-taker. He never has been, and he doesn’t know if he ever can be. It’s terrifying and uncomfortable and so nerve-wracking that he feels like crying, because if he can’t become a risk-taker then he can’t stay in this competition.

He misses the end of Chris’s speech and only tunes back into his surroundings when everyone starts bustling around excitedly and gathering up their clothing from the floor. He blinks, looking around the room in confusion. Phichit approaches him and claps a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“Um, who won the challenge?” Yuuri asks, straightening up and trying not to look pathetic.

“Isabella did,” Phichit says. “Chris said the scores will be posted at the house on the big screen when we get back.”

Yuuri nods, wishing he had somewhere to hide in the house. His score—probably the lowest score in the house—will be on display for everyone to see. Up on a gigantic screen. In the middle of the house’s entryway.

Maybe he can just get it tattooed on his forehead.

He sighs and leans down to grab his clothes. “I need to change,” he mumbles, looking around for a display to duck behind so he doesn’t have to keep baring himself to the world. He steps away from Phichit, letting his friend’s hand fall from his shoulder.

“You did good, Yuuri,” Phichit promises.

Yuuri’s shoulders slump, feeling awful for being so self-centered. “You did good, too,” he says. “You did really good.”

◇  ◇  ◇

Yuuri manages to make it through the night without drinking or crying, which he considers a success. He does sulk quite a bit, which Phichit gives him shit for, but he can’t help it.

He feels like an idiot after the challenge. Though he didn’t have the lowest score in the house—Seung-gil took that prize—he was still close to the bottom of the ranks, and he _knows_ he can do better. He got so caught up in his own head that he couldn’t focus on what he was doing.

Although, he did give Chris what he wanted. He was himself—his neurotic, anxious self. And he can only hope he isn’t going to get too into his head again today. It’s the first official photoshoot of the season and he’s not going to go home just because he’s nervous about looking stupid.

On the bus ride over to the photoshoot location Yuuri does his best to center himself. It’s not going to go badly. It’s still going to be a pressured environment, and he’s still going to be anxious, but he knows what to expect from a photoshoot. He studied this, he _knows_ this.

He continues to reassure himself of that when they get to the studio. It’s intimidating; a dark but clean contemporary space that feels like it should belong to a brooding mid-thirties business bachelor.

Phichit leans over and tugs on Yuuri’s sleeve. “Do you get the feeling we’re on the set of a shitty bondage movie meant for straight white women?” he whispers.

Yuuri chokes on his own spit. Phichit grins and smacks him on the back.

They’re led through the studio into the green room, where Chris and Viktor are waiting for them. Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat—he didn’t expect Viktor to be there. All of his research about the show suggested that Viktor only spent time on set a handful of times every season, and never at the very first photoshoot.

Viktor grins at them when they’re all gathered in front of him and Chris. “Good morning!” he greets, waving at them happily. “I hope you’re all ready for your first photoshoot. I think it’s going to be a great start to the season and a perfect test to see how you all handle challenges. See, all of you come into this competition with a concrete idea of what kind of model and person you are, but usually the way you see yourself isn’t quite… accurate. The way you see yourselves and the way that people perceive your personality as a model are typically completely different. You have to learn to change the way you see yourself to match what the public sees in order to be successful. You have to own your new image.”

He pauses, looking around at them and smiling softly—he looks nostalgic, but not necessarily in a good way. “I had to learn, too,” he says. “I’m sure you all remember my sixties-esque flower-child phase.”

The models laugh and Yuuri smiles, a light blush rising on his cheeks. He loved the way Viktor styled himself as a teenager, with soft colors and his hair always in a low ponytail draped over his shoulder. Yuuri used to walk around pretending he had long, flowing silver hair. One time Mari caught him sitting in front of a box fan and a mirror posing and pretending he was doing a conditioner commercial. She’s promised that he’s never going to live that one down.

“It was my personal favorite look,” Viktor continues, “but it wasn’t the way agents or companies saw me and it wasn’t what I was getting cast for, so I learned to alter my image. Today, your photoshoot is inspired by the Grecian eight types of love: philia, storge, pragma, ludus, philautia, agape, ero, and mania. A few of you will be paired up for some of the assignments and some of you will be by yourselves. Your assignments are based on the way myself and the other judges view the model you _can be_ , and you need to embody these assignments entirely whether you feel you fit the image or not. Start off with something solid for judging tomorrow. Sound good?”

They all nod and say yes as though their opinions actually matter at this point, and Viktor smiles. “Okay. Here are your assignments. Up first will be _philia_ ; platonic love—love between friends. Seung-gil and Otabek, you’ll be doing this one together.”

Yuuri glances around to get a look at Seung-gil and Otabeks’ reactions. Otabek’s expression is cautiously neutral but Seung-gil is clearly holding back a displeased look.

Viktor blazes on, unphased. “Next is _storge_ ; familial love. Yuuko, Leo, and Guang-Hong will be our only trio of the day.”

JJ and Isabella get _pragma_ , mature love; Mila and Sara get _ludus_ , young and playful love. _Philautia_ , self-love, goes to Phichit.

“Next is _eros_ ; sexual love and beauty,” Viktor says, smirking. “Yuuri, you’ll be doing this one.”

Yuuri’s heart skips violently, but before he can process that statement he hears Yurio huff in satisfaction off to the side. A wave of relief washes over Yuuri. Of course, Viktor meant Yurio. No one has told him about the nicknames.

Viktor quirks a brow at Yurio’s response. “Oops, sorry Yuri, I meant the other Yuuri,” he says, pointing in Yuuri’s direction. “That’s going to get confusing! We might have to start referring to you by your last names.”

Yuuri’s throat closes up. _What?!_

“We’re calling Yuri Plisetsky ‘Yurio’ now,” Mila interjects cheerily.

“That’s _not_ my name,” Yurio spits, crossing his arms.

“Oh, good,” Viktor says, ignoring Yurio’s protests. “That’s much better. Right, Yuuri is going to be modeling sexual love. Yurio, you’re going to be doing _agape_ ; selfless, unconditional love.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Yurio scoffs. “Seriously, you think Katsuki can pull off a sex look and you’re expecting me to look like a pansy doing that emotional crap? You’re insane.”

Viktor smiles, unperturbed by Yurio’s attitude. “I appreciate your opinion, but I can promise I know more than you,” he says, winking. “Remember, modelling is about adjusting your image to the way employers view you. You view yourself as a punk but really you come off as more of a… rebellious kitten.”

Yurio’s jaw drops and he scoffs again. Viktor laughs and moves on. Yuuri vaguely hears him assign _mania—_ obsessive love—to Georgi and Anya, but he’s too distracted now to focus on anything else.

He’s… supposed to get up in front of everyone and embody sexual love in a photoshoot for national television. In front of everyone. In front of _Viktor Nikiforov._ He can’t recount a single time in his life he’s ever been sexy in front of people he’s actually _had sex_ with. How the hell is he supposed to do this, especially after he did that stupid, cliché “seductive” pose during his audition interview? He’s already clearly made an idiot of himself when it comes to eros, does Viktor just want to rub it in?

He lets Phichit drag him over to sitting area while they wait to have makeup done and he tries to figure out how to get out of this. Maybe Viktor would just let him and Yurio trade. After all, Yurio seemed confident that he would be able to do this far better than Yuuri could.

Of course, Yurio is confident about everything he does. In that respect, Yuuri is jealous of him.

After a few minutes one of the makeup artists calls his name and he gets up and follows her to her station. Maybe Viktor was actually confused and too proud to admit it. He’s a prideful person. That could definitely be it. Yuuri could talk to him before the photoshoot and get everything straightened out so he doesn’t make a fool of himself in front of the entire world.

Halfway through getting his makeup done, Yuuri hears someone approach the station and he forces himself to sit still and keep his eyes shut instead of looking.

“I’ll take over for a minute if you don’t mind,” Viktor says from behind him. Yuuri squeaks and his eyes fly open in time to see his makeup artist hand a sleeve of brushes over to Viktor and walk away to work on someone else.

He nearly protests before he realizes how rude that would be, and instead forces himself to sit still and _not_ gape up at Viktor as he starts sorting through all the makeup on the table.

“I figured I would get more involved this season,” Viktor explains in response to the stunned look on Yuuri’s face. “In the past I haven’t been too good about being hands-on with the models, so I suggested to the producer that I work with you all a bit more.” He seems to find the palette he was searching for and holds it up with a proud smile. “Luckily, I’m the producer and I said yes! So, I’m helping out with makeup today. I have very specific visions for each of you and I think I can execute them the best.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what he could possibly say in response to that, so he just nods. Viktor looks down at him and smiles softly. They stare at each other for a moment and Yuuri tries to figure out what Viktor is waiting for.

“You know, I can’t do your eye makeup if your eyes are wide open,” Viktor says eventually, winking.

Yuuri blushes brightly and shrinks in his chair. “Oh, gomen—um, sorry,” he says, shutting his eyes. Viktor takes his chin in his hand gently but firmly and adjusts the position of his head. Yuuri hopes the far-too-many layers of foundation on his face at least begin to hide how red his cheeks are, but he knows it’s a long shot.

Luckily, Viktor doesn’t mention it. He gets to work on Yuuri’s eye makeup and Yuuri focuses on keeping his breathing steady with every brush of Viktor’s fingers against his face. His hands are so _soft_ and he smells like bergamot and cinnamon and the entire situation is full of enough sensation to spur Yuuri’s fantasies for _years_ to come.

With the thought of fantasies in his mind, Yuuri remembers the original reason he’s in this chair having his makeup done by his idol. This is probably the only opportunity he’s going to have to try and convince Viktor to switch his and Yurio’s assignments to what they should actually be.

He clears his throat softly. “Um, Viktor—” he starts, then cuts off. Should he call him by his first name? Is that rude? “Um, can I call you that?” he asks shyly.

“What else would you call me?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri can hear the smile in his voice, almost teasing. “I… don’t know,” he admits, cheeks heating up again.

“Viktor it is, then.”

“Right…” Yuuri mumbles. “Um, I was just wondering, when you gave us our assignments earlier, are you sure you didn’t… like, mix up Yurio’s and mine?”

The makeup brush on Yuuri’s eye stills and then lifts away from his skin. “Do you think I did?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri hesitantly peels his eyes open and is met with Viktor gazing down at him curiously with the hint of a smile on his lips. Yuuri feels a shiver run up his spine and he shrinks even further down into his chair. God, he’s afraid to even be _close_ to Viktor like this. It’s unreal and terrifying, because he’s not exactly _good_ at hiding the way he’s feeling at any given moment.

“I—I was just thinking, um,” Yuuri stammers, “maybe you did but didn’t want to let Yurio think he was right, which would make sense because he’s… well, a little overly confident, I guess, but I really don’t think _anyone_ in the industry is going to look at me and think I’m…”

He trails off, not wanting to say the word ‘sexy’ in front of the star of all his masturbatory fantasies. “They just won’t think the assignment is right,” he finishes lamely.

“Do you think I should re-assign your topic?” Viktor asks, tilting his head. “Do you not like my choices?”

“N—no!” Yuuri stammers, blushing even darker. He doesn’t, of course, but he can’t just _say_ that. “No, I do!”

Viktor smiles placidly and bats his eyelashes. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I…” Yuuri trails off and ducks his head shyly. “I, um, I don’t think I can be very… eros.”

“And why is that?” Viktor probes.

“I—I guess I… lack confidence,” Yuuri mumbles. Which is embarrassing—so, _so_ embarrassing—to say to his idol, and to someone who put so much trust in him by voting him into this competition and assigning him such a bold topic for his first photoshoot. But it’s true. He has no confidence in himself, especially not when he’s supposed to be posing as the physical embodiment of sexual love.

Viktor reaches out and touches his index finger to Yuuri’s chin. “Yuuri, will you look at me?” he asks.

Yuuri flushes brightly and allows Viktor to tilt his head back up, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s _so close_ , his face barely three inches away from Yuuri’s, and focusing on what he’s saying is much more difficult all of a sudden.

“You say you lack confidence,” Viktor says, “and it’s my job as your modeling coach to help you find that confidence in yourself. But I can’t create your confidence for you. You’re the only one who knows your true self, and you’re the only one who knows your true eros. Until you show me that eros and until you show me your true self, I can’t help you build confidence in your self image.”

He smiles warmly and shifts his hand, and Yuuri _swears_ he feels Viktor’s thumb graze his lip. “Does that make sense, _lyubimaya moya?_ Do you trust me?” Viktor asks, cocking his head to the side.

Yuuri only manages a nearly inaudible squeak and a miniscule nod in response. He’s almost afraid to _breathe_ with Viktor this close to him. Would it shatter the mirage? Would Viktor suddenly disappear in a haze, the hint of his thumb just a phantom warm spot on Yuuri’s lip?

Viktor grins at Yuuri’s semi-reply. “Good,” he declares, dropping his hand, “now, go change into the rope harness!”

“W—wait, the what?!” Yuuri yelps.

◇  ◇  ◇

One thing Yuuri never expected to learn during his modelling career is that rope is _uncomfortable_. His skin is itching with every move. The distraction is making it just that much harder to focus on an already difficult task. He might have prepared himself to potentially shoot in the nude, but he definitely wasn’t ready to shoot in a pair of way-too-tight boxer briefs and a bondage harness.

“You need to _own_ this look, Yuuri,” Chris instructs. He leans forward to look at the computer and tuts. “You’re letting the rope weigh you down, you have to sit up straighter!”

Yuuri bites his lip and contorts his back even further, wondering if he _can_ sit up straighter. It feels like he’s got a rod in his spine already.

He’s not as good at this as he’d hoped he would be. His back is aching and his arms are contorted and he can’t stop blushing and he knows he’s going to get shit for all the photo retouching Chris is going to have to do.

“Yuuri, I’m not seeing sex in this photo, I’m seeing _fear_ ,” Chris hollers.

 _Not inaccurate,_ Yuuri thinks, doing his best not to visibly pout. He picks a new position with his arms over his head and Chris immediately shouts, “This is an erotic photoshoot, not a deodorant ad!”

Yuuri lowers his arms again and holds back frustrated tears. Okay, something else, something erotic—should he stick his ass out?

“Stop!” Chris shouts, shoving himself to his feet. Yuuri bites his lip to keep it from wobbling—why can’t he get this _right?_

Chris practically stomps over to the set and gestures for Yuuri to get up and step aside. He wraps his arms around his torso protectively as he walks over to Chris. Seriously, his _first photoshoot_ and he’s already being pulled aside for fucking up?

“What’s going on out there?” Chris demands.

“I’m just—I’m nervous, I’m sorry,” Yuuri stammers, staring at the floor.

“Well, nervous isn’t an excuse anymore,” Chris says. “You’re still fighting to be here and you don’t want to be the first person to get eliminated. You need to find some passion, find your eros. Who are you performing for? Figure it out and pick up the pace, because you’re running out of frames.”

Yuuri nods and Chris takes it, leaving to return to his computer without another word.

God, that’s so _frustrating_. He’s trying, he really is, and he’s usually good at displaying emotion—too good, as demonstrated by the fact that he’s trying not to cry right now. This “eros” thing is going to be the death of him.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself back onto set, climbing onto the extremely uncomfortable leather couch again. He folds his legs up under him and is in the midst of figuring out his arms when he catches sight of Viktor walking into the room.

Yuuri’s heart stutters anxiously at the sight of him and his self-preservation instincts kick in; he wraps his arms around his stomach and hopes his stretch marks are effectively covered.

Chris holds up a hand to the main photographer when Viktor walks over. Yuuri watches them as they talk furtively off to the side and imagines what they’re saying about him. Probably the same things everyone else says—he doesn’t have the talent, the skill, the body, or the emotional capacity to do any of this.

But he’s devoted, and he doesn’t want to go home. God, he _really_ doesn’t want to go home. He may be terrified out of his mind and frustrated with himself constantly, but this is such an incredible opportunity and this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life. He gets to model under the tutelage of one of the most world-renowned models in the world. He’s here with other aspiring professionals and his best friend and his _idol_.

He’s here with Viktor _because_ of Viktor. Not just because Viktor voted him onto the show, but because he’s been inspiring Yuuri to get here his entire life.

Oh. _Of course._  Yuuri has the answer to Chris’s question.

“Alright, get back to it,” Chris calls out, gesturing to the photographer. “We have to finish up here so we can get on with the next one. Yuuri, did you figure out your inspiration?”

Yuuri nods at Chris as he re-positions himself. He turns his back to everyone and angles his head to the side so he can still look to Chris for direction. Viktor is standing beside Chris, fingertips pressed to his lips in thought. Yuuri gives him a look that demands his attention and he can tell Viktor is looking back; a rush of excitement overcomes him as the first flash goes off.

He’s performing for Viktor. He was doing that already in a more literal sense, but now he has direction. He’s supposed to embody sexual love, and the fuel of all Yuuri’s sexual love is standing just fifteen feet away.

He’s been fantasizing about Viktor sexually since he learned what sex was, but he’s always imagined Viktor coming to him, seducing him.

In what world other than in Yuuri’s fantasies would Viktor need to seduce him? Yuuri would drop to his knees for Viktor in a second flat. Viktor is the one who needs to be seduced, and this entire photoshoot is about Yuuri being the seductress.

“ _Yes_ , Yuuri!” Chris exclaims, smacking the tabletop excitedly. “That’s more like it! Keep smizing, don’t let it go. Finally, it’s getting steamy in here!”

Yuuri’s heart kicks at the praise but he maintains his focus. Viktor is watching him raptly and Yuuri lets the slightest smile curl the corner of his lips.

_Don’t ever take your eyes off me._

◇  ◇  ◇

“Models, welcome to your first judging panel,” Viktor says, looking outrageously joyful for the occasion.

 _Shockingly_ enough, no one else is quite as happy as Viktor is. The first judging panel is the most terrifying of the season. Not only do they not know what to expect from the judges, but one of them is about the become the first person to go home.

Frankly, Yuuri has been on the edge of a panic attack all day. But that’s no different than usual.

“Congratulations on making it through the first week,” Viktor says from his seat at the judges’ table. “You all know our judges: my friend Christophe Giacometti, set designer and photographer, and Lilia Baranovskaya, runway coach extraordinaire. Chris had the pleasure of organizing your first photoshoot, which went fantastically for some and a bit disastrous for others. Today we’re going to go over those photos with each of you individually and decide which of you will be going home.”

“But _first_ ,” Viktor continues, grinning, “I think it’s time to let you know what the prizes are for this season.”

The models cheer excitedly and even Yuuri momentarily forgets his anxiety. He’d almost forgotten that there was more of a prize than just getting to model and spend his time around Viktor Nikiforov.

“Just like every other year, the winner of this season will be receiving a contract with a major agency, a campaign with a retail line, and a magazine spread,” Viktor explains, “but with the addition of men to the Top Model competition I didn’t think Covergirl and Seventeen Magazine were going to cut it. So I decided to make the prizes even more exciting! I love a high-stakes competition!”

“You were all chosen to compete in this season because the other judges and I believe that with a bit of work, you can all excel in high fashion— _haute couture,_ ” Viktor says. “Keeping that in mind, these are the prizes we chose. The winner of this season will sign a contract with NEXT Model Management, receive a one-hundred-thousand dollar campaign with Christian Dior, and join me in a photoshoot and magazine spread in Italian Vogue.”

The models gasp collectively and Yuuri’s jaw drops. This is the biggest prize in Top Model history and Yuuri can barely wrap his head around it. Dior? Vogue? NEXT? How did Viktor manage to pull that off for the winner of an amateur modeling competition?

Viktor beams at them from his seat. “Now that you know what you’re competing for, it’s time to judge your first photoshoot of the season. Isabella and JJ, you’re up first.”

Isabella and JJ walk forward together and stand in front of the judges’ table to receive the comments and criticisms on their photoshoot, and their best photo pops up on a screen to the side of the room.

Yuuri has never been exceptionally interested in straight couples, but he can’t deny that their picture is beautiful. Isabella looks ethereal and, somehow, JJ managed to look like a model instead of a slightly-prettier-than-normal jock. The judges each give their scores and the picture gets an average score of eight out of ten.

For the first picture of the season it’s an intimidating score, and Yuuri’s nerves start building again. Mila and Sara are called up next and get a seven on their _ludus_ photo, and Yuuko, Leo, and Guang-Hong get the same score for _storge_.

“Up next is Yuuri’s _eros_ photo,” Viktor announces, smiling.

Yuuri swallows hard against the lump in his throat and steps forward, feeling more like a zombie than a model.

“So, Yuuri,” Viktor starts, “Chris told me on set yesterday that you were struggling, but I didn’t believe him until I saw all of your frames during editing. What was going on before I got there?”

 _It was harder to visualize seducing you when you weren’t standing right in front of me_. “Um, just… nerves,” Yuuri stammers. “I’ve never done something like this before. My anxiety got the best of me.”

He hears someone snort behind him—probably Yurio—and flushes bright pink. Everyone behind him is listening to the criticisms too. _Right_. Good thing he didn’t mention the sexual fantasy inspiration.

“It’s clear in your footage that you struggled,” Viktor agrees, “but in the end, you really rose to the challenge.”

Yuuri’s best photo pops up on the screen and he’s speechless.

He barely recognizes himself. Sure, some of that can be attributed to the magic of photo editing but he looks… _sexy._ Not raunchy, not like he should be in a copy of Playgirl, but genuinely erotic. He has the whole _come hither_ look going on, but it’s subdued, like he’s hiding something despite being nearly naked. And he had no idea his gaze could look that _intense_. It helps that Viktor gave him such a messy smoky eye—he looks like a Mad Max character—but it wasn’t just the makeup that gave him that look. _He did that_. It’s unbelievable.

“The difference in what I see in front of me and what I see on screen is incredible,” Viktor comments. “I don’t know what it is that comes over you when you finally find your groove, but I’ve seen it more than once now and it’s beautiful. Good job.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispers, still stunned.

“It took a few minutes, but you started taking direction well,” Chris agrees. “I think you need to be bossed around a bit, and we can work with that.”

“Yes we can,” Viktor agrees, smirking. Yuuri barely manages to hold back an audible squeak. “The only thing I don’t like about this picture is that your neck kind of got lost with the way you were looking over your shoulder. Make sure you’re adjusting your posture when you’re facing away from the camera. You want to look like a crane, not a turtle. Judges, your scores?”

“Eight from me,” Chris says.

“Eight from me as well,” Lilia adds, “but we need to work on your poses. They’re very catalogue.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully, staring at the picture. He smiles. “Seven, just based off of all the footage you gave us. You can do better. But I like what I see.”

“Average of eight, then,” Chris says. “Good job, Yuuri. Hopefully we’ll get to see you undressed more often.”

He winks and Yuuri turns bright red, managing to stammer out another thank you before he hurries back to join the other models, smiling in complete disbelief.

 _An eight!_ On his first photoshoot! He’s so caught up in his own score that he barely hears the rest of the judging. One word just keeps ringing in his ears. _Eight, eight, eight!_

No one else gets a score above seven except for Yurio, who gets an eight as well for his _agape_ photo. Phichit’s self-love photo only gets a six, and it’s the only thing that briefly diminishes Yuuri’s overwhelming excitement. Phichit is barely fazed, of course; when he rejoins the models he looks more determined than ever.

When everyone’s scores have been doled out, Viktor steps out from behind the judges’ table with a stack of pictures in his hands.

“There are fourteen models in front of me, but only thirteen photos in this pile,” he says solemnly, “which means it’s time for someone to go home. But first, I’m going to announce this week’s ‘best picture’ winner, which is decided based off your challenge and photo scores. Every week a new winner will be chosen, and in addition to having their photo displayed on the screen in the catwalk room of your house, they’ll have access to the winner’s suite. I’m sure you all noticed the only locked room in the house, because I had the door painted gold! The door belongs to the winner’s suite, which has a master bedroom, spa bathroom, and unlimited-access closet. The winner also gets to choose someone to share the room with them for the week.”

“So,” Viktor concludes, “the first model to take over the winner’s suite is… Isabella.”

Isabella gasps and Viktor smiles, gesturing for her to step forward. Yuuri ignores the sinking feeling in his heart. He hadn’t necessarily expected to win best photo, but his score had given him a bit of hope. His challenge score from the other day is coming back to haunt him. He needs to work on his performance under pressure.

She walks to the side and waits with her picture in her hands, and Viktor announces the runner-up—JJ. Then Yurio, Leo, Sara, and Phichit.

The thought briefly comes to Yuuri’s mind that at some time he and Phichit won’t be here together, which is terrifying.

“Next is Yuuri,” Viktor says, smiling.

This is not that time.

Yuuri walks up to Viktor with his heart pounding and Viktor holds out Yuuri’s photo. It’s still unbelievable.

“You told me before your photoshoot that you lack confidence,” Viktor says, soft enough so that no one but Yuuri can hear him. “But I think what you lack is the ability to get out of your own head. I know what it’s like. And I’m going to help you. If your performance can seduce me, you can get agents to beg for the chance to represent you. So seduce me with all you have. Congratulations, Yuuri.”

Yuuri takes the photo and Viktor’s fingers brush his, sending shivers down his spine. “Thank you, Viktor,” he whispers, smiling.

Viktor beams and nods, and Yuuri goes to join Phichit and the others, staring at his photo in awe. Part of him feels self-centered for ogling his own picture, but the way he looks in it makes him feel like a model. He’s a _model_.

In the end, it comes down to Otabek and Seung-gil; their challenge scores were the lowest and their photograph only got an average of six. But Otabek’s challenge score was a point higher, so he stays and Seung-gil goes.

Yuuri wants to feel worse about Seung-gil being eliminated—even though they barely knew each other and didn’t say more than two words to one another in passing—but he can’t stop smiling. His heart is pounding harder than ever, but this time it’s not because of his anxiety.

He had one of the highest scoring photos, and Viktor saw what Yuuri wanted him to see. Yuuri performed for Viktor and Viktor asked for more.

 _Seduce me with all you have._  Yuuri smiles, hugging his picture to his chest. He’s here because Viktor believed in him. He’s going to become the best model in this competition to prove that Viktor’s choice was the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here are the inspirations for yuuri's two outfits!
> 
> casual: [sweater](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/luciano-barbera-textured-wool-sweater/4733683?origin=topnav&cm_sp=Top%20Navigation-_-Men-_-Sweaters&offset=1&top=72&flexi=60131006_60202459), [pants](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/prana-brion-slim-fit-pants/4658602?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=MUD), [shoes](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/sperry-gold-cup-authentic-original-boat-shoe-men/3310371?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=NAVY%20LEATHER)
> 
> formal: [shirt](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/bonobos-timber-trim-fit-stretch-check-dress-shirt/4704066?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=RED), [tie](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/the-tie-bar-solid-wool-silk-tie/4180227?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=BURGUNDY), [pants](https://shop.nordstrom.com/s/nordstrom-mens-shop-flat-front-wool-trousers/3915344?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=BLACK)
> 
> and here's the inspirations for yuuri's photoshoot (all probably considered NSFW):  
> [1](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3a/65/b9/3a65b943a67217946e42947aedbfe481--lingerie-models-fashion-lingerie.jpg), [2](https://www.instagram.com/p/BP4sX_ul9FI/), [3](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CYryijSUMAE9Qj6.jpg), [4](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/4f/a1/26/4fa126c6528e5bb42061d4418c668738.jpg)


	3. It's Makeover Day!!! What Are You Doing to My Hair?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you dating anyone now?” Viktor asks, softly, after a moment. “Boyfriend, girlfriend?”
> 
> Yuuri turns bright pink, trying to keep his eyes from going wide. 
> 
> _Is... Viktor hitting on him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, updating my WIP almost a year after my last chapter? absolutely
> 
> biggest hugs to amanda [victuuriplease](http://victuuriplease.tumblr.com/) for beta editing this chapter for me and fixing every instance of passive voice (ie the whole thing) what a hero

“Makeover day!” Phichit exclaims. “Get up, it’s _makeover day!”_

It’s official: Yuuri’s least favorite part of this competition is waking up.

For the past four years he’s been completely in charge of his own schedule; between his schoolwork and his various part-time jobs, he has not willingly woken up before nine since he moved out of his parents’ house.

Turns out, Viktor is a morning person. That, or he wants to break their spirits, because their days begin at six in the morning and it’s slowly destroying Yuuri’s will to be awake at all.

Apparently there are no plans to remedy this crime, because Phichit has launched himself onto Yuuri’s bed at precisely six on the start of their third week in the model house and startled Yuuri awake.

Yuuri yelps and flails, grabbing his comforter to keep himself from falling out of bed. “ _Phichit!”_ he squeaks. “What the _fuck?!”_

Phichit bounces on the bed and grins like an excited kid on Christmas morning. “Get up!” he repeats. “The fate of your hair is about to be in the hands of legendary style icon and supermodel Viktor Nikiforov!”

Yuuri groans at the reminder and lets go of his covers, throwing his arms over his face despairingly. “I’m not _ready_ ,” he whines. “I want to stay in bed, it’s safer here. What if I end up in the makeover disaster portfolio? I should just stay home.”

Phichit rolls his eyes and throws a pillow down at him. “And you call me the drama queen,” he teases. “Viktor is here to help us, not ruin our images. It’s not like he’s going to dye your hair pink or give you a beard weave.”

Yuuri squints up at him skeptically. Viktor has made a few questionable beauty choices on the show on the basis of ‘trying something new’ and Yuuri does _not_ want to be the victim of an experimental makeover.

Phichit sees the look on his face and sighs. “Probably not, anyway,” he amends. “Lighten up! Everyone can tell that Viktor thinks you’re cute, he’s not going to make you look like an idiot.”

“I hate that you know exactly how to manipulate me,” Yuuri grumbles, blushing and crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Up!” Phichit insists. “Shower! Food! Cute outfit! Makeovers!”

He concludes his rampage by stealing Yuuri’s blankets—guaranteeing that he won’t go back to sleep because he hates sleeping without covers—and running out of the room. Yuuri groans and leans against the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Living in this house is going to be the death of him, he swears it. Between Phichit’s overly-enthusiastic wake up calls, being constantly surrounded by absolute strangers, and having to dodge Yurio at every corner, Yuuri is completely exhausted. The actual modeling work is hard, of course, but Yuuri’s work ethic is never lacking. He likes a good challenge. His introverted soul, however, is withering and dying. The only alone time he gets is when he’s in the gym, but he has to stay up so late to be the only person there that it almost isn’t worth it.

He sighs and forces himself up. He _does_ need to choose something cute to wear, because he knows Viktor will be at the studio today—he always shows up for makeover day. Of course, nothing Yuuri owns is something that he would consider cute, so he steals one of Phichit’s shirts and digs out his best-fitting pair of jeans before heading off to the showers.

Once he’s clean, dressed, and on to taming his hair, he stops to take a moment and stare at himself in the mirror. Even though he’s terrified of whatever makeover Viktor has come up with for him, he’s also incredibly excited. It’s amazing to think that at some point, Viktor sat down and thought specifically of Yuuri—of what might better him as a model, what flatters his features, what might make him look and feel beautiful.

For years, Viktor paying him personal attention was something that Yuuri only could have dreamed of, and now it’s _happening._

He finishes getting ready with a stupid grin on his face that doesn’t fade until they get to the makeover studio. Viktor and Chris are there to greet them and everyone is buzzing with excitement, including the judges.

The look of the studio is intimidating to Yuuri—he’s never paid more than fifteen dollars for a haircut and it’s clear that the stylists who work here charge hundreds. He can’t fathom spending that much and he’s relieved that the show is taking care of it for them.

“Models, welcome!” Viktor greets, vibrating with enthusiasm. “I know you’ve all been looking forward to today and so have I. I’ve been planning some of your makeovers since before I even knew if you were going to be in the competition. I’m _so_ excited to get started.”

Chris snorts. “Mm, we can tell,” he teases, winking at the models.

They laugh and Viktor rolls his eyes. “We’re going to start with my favorite makeover of them all,” he says, still smiling. He scans the group and when he finds Yuuri his eyes light up. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart nearly stops and he flushes bright red. _He’s_ the favorite makeover? What does that mean? Is it good? Is it something wild and experimental? What the hell is Viktor going to do to him?

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, “I’m taking you from simple to stunning. Your look now is fine, but it’s average. I’m giving you just-shorter-than shoulder length extensions, and I took the liberty of hunting down your glasses prescription and ordering you contacts. The change won’t be exaggerated, but it’s different enough to catch attention and alter your entire image. It’ll be gorgeous.”

He stares at Yuuri with an expectant smile, to which Yuuri can only respond with a grin and a nod. Satisfied, Viktor moves on to the next model and lets Yuuri drown in his own joy.

His makeover sounds… incredible. He’s nervous, of course—when isn’t he?—but Viktor put thought and care into this concept, and Yuuri loves it already. He’s always had glasses and has never had long hair. The look will be an adjustment for sure, but he wants it. Any chance he gets to change his view of himself is something he wants to embrace.

He wants to see himself the way Viktor does.

Remaining  patient and still while Viktor finishes going over the other models’ makeovers is one of the more difficult things Yuuri has ever done. He chews the inside of his lip raw, only vaguely hearing what the other twelve models will be metamorphosing into at the end of the day.

Normally, hearing what Viktor has in store for the others would give him anxiety but knowing that his look is the favorite… well, Yuuri has never had an ego, but his confidence is definitely bolstered.

The only transformation that gives him concerns is Yurio’s. He’s getting off easy with just a styling lesson because Viktor wants to work with his “naturally androgynous and childlike” look. On one hand, Yuuri is glad that he won’t have to sit in this studio for hours on end listening to Yurio pick fights with a stylist wielding scissors. On the other hand, this could also go to Yurio’s head—he’s the only one who isn’t getting a haircut.

The worries quickly flit from Yuuri’s mind when Viktor announces that he’s finished giving out their assignments and it’s time to get started.

The whole extension process is exhausting, not because Yuuri has to do anything but because he _can’t_ do anything. He has to sit still for hours while the stylist glues individual bits of hair to his roots. It’s itchy and he starts to get a headache after an hour, but he toughs it out.

He’s doing better than most of the others, at least. Most of the models look a bit restless. Anya and JJ have both cried over their haircuts. Yuuri can understand why Anya, who had her waist-length hair chopped to a short bob, would be upset—but JJ hardly looks any different and (Yuuri suspects) is more or less throwing a tantrum because he’s afraid of change. Yuuri understands the terror and discomfort that comes along with a makeover that you have no say in, but he at least has the dignity to wait until he’s alone in the bathroom to cry.

Phichit’s haircut and style session only took twenty minutes and he looks stunning. He spends at least half an hour in the chair next to Yuuri, taking selfies with Yuuri coaching him on how to find his light and good angles, which helps to distract from the itching. Phichit turning the camera around and taking unflattering pictures of Yuuri, however, is just annoying.

After two hours, as the styling sessions are coming to a close, Chris and Viktor reappear.

“Models, you’re all looking incredible,” Viktor sighs, smiling and satisfied. “I knew you would. Now that a few of you are finished, we’re going to get started on the post-makeover photoshoot. Yay! Anyone whose hair is finished, please join Chris and I in the next room to change and get your makeup done.”

He and Chris leave the room again and the models start clamoring excitedly about their next photoshoot.

“I’m out!” Phichit declares, hopping to his feet. “Have fun with your glue!”

Yuuri pouts but keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to complain like the others. He has no idea how long it’ll be until he’s done and he’s itching to get started on the photoshoot. Just itching in general. He really, _really_ wants to scratch his head, but the one time he tried, his stylist smacked his hand.

It’s at least another hour before Yuuri’s hair is done and the only other model left in the studio with him is Isabella, who’s having the entire left side of her hair bleached platinum blonde. When Yuuri’s stylist dismisses him, he thanks her and awkwardly waves to Isabella before heading over to the makeup studio.

The other room is bustling with excitement, the models in various states of makeup and dress. Yuuri scans the room in search of Phichit and finds him chatting with Leo and Guang-Hong, all of them wearing nothing but black booty shorts.

Yuuri’s heart pounds. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

He glances around for some kind of direction, hoping his generally unsure and anxious energy will draw someone over to tell him what to do.

It works, but not quite in the way Yuuri wanted it to. The someone who notices him is Viktor, who’s right in the middle of doing makeup on Mila—who looks fantastic with a brand new side-shave. Viktor meets his gaze and beams across the room, holding up a finger to indicate Yuuri should stay where he is. Yuuri fights the urge not to bolt like he always wants to when Viktor pays him any individual attention.

Viktor says something to Mila before gesturing for another crew member to take his place, and then he heads in Yuuri’s direction.

“Yuuri!” Viktor greets, smiling excitedly when he gets there. “I _knew_ this style would suit you, you look _incredible_.”

Yuuri blushes brightly. “Thank you,” he says, unable to hold back a smile. “Um, where am I going next?”

“With me,” Viktor says. “I’m going to be giving you a styling lesson and doing your makeup for the photoshoot.”

Yuuri furrows his brow. “Are—are you not working with Mila anymore?” he asks.

Viktor shrugs, a light blush rising on his cheeks. “Well, I’m supposed to be cycling through everyone,” he says. “So I’ll cycle over to you now.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, eyeing him with uncertainty. “Okay.”

Viktor nods and gestures toward an empty station. Yuuri takes a seat, smiling to himself.

Did Viktor just abandon another model because he wanted to work with Yuuri? After all, he did say that Yuuri’s makeover was his favorite. The idea makes Yuuri’s heart race so quickly he can feel it in his throat.

Viktor comes around to the front of the station and sorts through the drawers, pulling out various bottles and containers and hair styling tools. Yuuri watches, starting to feel intimidated by how much work it’s going to take to style his new hair. He’s never done much with his hair—then again, that’s probably why they changed it.

The trepidation flits away when Viktor turns to face him, smiling. “So,” Viktor says, grabbing a bottle off the counter and shaking it, “when I decided on this look for you I mostly envisioned you wearing it slicked back with matte pomade, but for this shoot we want to show off the change. We’re going to mousse it up. I’ll show you how to do it and we’ll get you some of the products for the house.”

He squirts some of the product into his hand and Yuuri watches, enraptured, as it continues to grow even after Viktor stops dispensing it. “Mousse,” Viktor explains, rubbing it between his palms. “It’s volumizing. We don’t want your hair to just lie flat.”

He steps forward and goes right to it, running his hands through Yuuri’s hair and styling it with ease. Yuuri bites the inside of his lip to hold back an embarrassing noise and lets his eyes fall shut. It feels… _incredible_. He’s essentially getting a scalp massage from Viktor Nikiforov and he’s not going to forget a moment of it. He knows he’s supposed to be paying attention so he can recreate the look later, but he has a feeling he’s going to have to have Phichit re-teach him when he can think straight.

“So, you’re friends with one of the other models, right?” Viktor asks. “Phichit?”

 _Speak of the devil._ “Um, y—yes,” Yuuri stammers, trying to keep his tone level. “We went to college together, he’s been my roommate for… almost four years?”

Viktor hums in response, continuing to work his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “You two must be close,” he suggests. Yuuri nods slightly in response, revelling in the feeling of Viktor’s nails against his scalp. “Have you ever dated?”

Yuuri comes back to himself at that. “Me and Phichit?” he asks, almost laughing, peeling his eyes back open and glancing up at Viktor. His cool, collected expression is a little different than usual—almost unsure. Yuuri’s amusement disappears at the sight. “Uh, no. No, that would be like dating my really, really annoying younger brother.”

Viktor laughs, fluffing out Yuuri’s hair. “ _Prosti, prosti_. Phichit was very open on his application about his sexuality and it’s obvious how close you two are. I just assumed.” He grabs a comb and starts teasing Yuuri’s hair, falling silent for a few beats.

“Are you dating anyone now?” Viktor asks, softly, after a moment. “Boyfriend, girlfriend?”

Yuuri is sure that he must turns bright pink, trying to keep his eyes from going wide.

_Is... Viktor hitting on him?_

No. No, that can’t be right—he’s just being friendly. He’s making small talk, doing his job. Models are supposed to be sociable and bubbly, Yuuri just isn’t used to that yet. Of course.

YuuriHe clears his throat and composes himself. “Um, no,” he stammers, “I—I don’t have a boyfriend right now.”

Yuuri catches a glimpse of that same blush from earlier, the lightest dusting of pink high on Viktor’s cheeks. He visibly relaxes and starts smiling again. Why is he so pleased by the fact that Yuuri is single?

“Are you settling in well to the house with the others?” Viktor asks. “I know you mentioned being introverted on your application.”

Yuuri sighs, relieved to be abandoning the topic of his love life and the conundrum of whether Viktor was actually flirting with him. “It’s… an adjustment,” he answers honestly. “My family is small and I only had one roommate throughout college. It can be hard to find time and space to be alone when you have twelve housemates.”

Viktor grins and grabs a hairdryer off the counter. “It sounds like there’s been some conflict between you and the other Yuri,” he says. He switches the dryer on and starts combing his fingers through Yuuri’s hair again.

Yuuri blushes, embarrassed. Of course Viktor knows about that—it’s his show, how could he not?

“Yes,” he shouts over the sound of the dryer, “I don’t know what happened, but I think we got off on the wrong foot somehow?”

Viktor hums, tilting his head. “I have a feeling it’s more Yurio than you. He may be confident, but he has a lot to prove—after all, he is one of the youngest in the house. He’s probably intimidated by you.”

Yuuri laughs. “Intimidated? By _me_?”

Viktor turns the dryer off, setting it aside. “I know you don’t see it yet Yuuri, but you’re a very good model,” he says, crossing his arms. “You have a lot of natural talent and a drive to get better. You scored highly at the first judging panel. Of course he’s intimidated by you.”

Yuuri blinks, surprised. He never thought of it like that. He’s been so focused on his own insecurities that he didn’t realize the models might get intimidated by his performance at panel. Why would they, when he’s so unassuming the rest of the time?

“Not to mention the fact that you’re incredibly attractive,” Viktor adds, turning around and picking up a bottle of foundation. He holds it next to Yuuri’s face for comparison, then frowns, swapping it out for a new one. “That picture from last week is going to keep people up at night.”

Yuuri turns so red that he’s positive Viktor isn’t going to be able to match a foundation to his skin tone. Viktor laughs softly, pumping some of the makeup onto the back of his hand and grabbing a beauty blender off the worktable.

“It was seriously one of the best pictures I’ve seen in a long time,” Viktor continues, dabbing makeup onto Yuuri’s cheeks. “You have a lot to learn, but the way you hold yourself during photoshoots is fantastic. You always manage to find your light. It shows off your beautiful face. Ugh, and your eyes. Gorgeous.”

Yuuri lets out a little squeak and bites his lip. Viktor laughs again, a little more exuberantly. “It’s so easy to make you blush!” he says, grinning and blending the makeup on Yuuri’s face. “This season is going to be so much fun.”

Yuuri holds back a groan of embarrassment. _So much fun._

Someone across the room calls Viktor’s name and he looks in their direction and pouts. “Sorry,” he sighs, setting his makeup tools back on the bench. “I’ve been summoned. I’ll have an artist come and finish up your makeup so you can get changed for the shoot.”

“Oh,” Yuuri murmurs, hoping his disappointment isn’t obvious, “okay.”

Viktor goes to step away, but Yuuri pipes up again. “Um, thanks for the makeover?” he stammers. “And—and for complimenting me. It means a lot, coming from you.”

Viktor smiles—that genuine smile that Yuuri is starting to notice more frequently, the one he hopes to see every time he interacts with Viktor—and nods. “You’re welcome, Yuuri,” he says. “It’s easy to compliment someone when there are dozens of wonderful things about them. Don’t forget the contacts!”

He walks away and Yuuri watches him go, cheeks bright pink and warm. It may be ridiculous of him to imagine that Viktor could show _any_ interest in him—sexual, romantic, or otherwise—but he’s starting to get the feeling that he might be right.

It doesn’t mean anything, of course—Viktor could have anyone in the world. He probably flirts with people constantly. But the idea that Yuuri might be one of those people is… breathtaking.

He’s in a state for the rest of the prep session, completely distracted as the new makeup artist finishes his face. He struggles with his contacts, but eventually gets them in and goes off to get changed. It even takes him a minute to get embarrassed about having to strip down and put on a pair of booty shorts.

Once he has them on, the self-shaming starts to creep back in and he wishes he had something to cover himself while he waits for his turn at the shoot. He keeps his arms wrapped around his stomach, awkwardly wandering until he finds Phichit and their roommates. They all compliment him on his new look and Yuuri admires them as well. Viktor outdid himself this season—being able to bring on male models really must have inspired him.

Guang-Hong got his cut cleaned up and finally looks like an adult and not a shaggy teenager, but nothing drastic was done. Leo’s makeover, however, is one of the more dramatic ones; his hair is now almost waist-length, wavy and perfectly highlighted. Phichit is visibly _swooning_ over him; and Yuuri thought _he_ was obvious about his crushes.

They stand around chatting for a few minutes, but it's not long before one of the crew members wanders over to them, clipboard in hand.

“Katsuki, Yuuri,” she reads, looking around at them. “Next up.”

Yuuri's stomach twists and he nods hesitantly, stepping away from the group.

“You've got this,” Phichit promises. His smile shows his fierce belief in Yuuri, and Yuuri does his best to take that with him as he heads to the set on the far side of the room.

It's very plain: just a taut white sheet as a backdrop and a similar sheet covering the floor. Nothing else. The look of it, despite its bareness, is intimidating. There won't be anything to focus on but Yuuri himself.

He steps onto the sheet and squints to get a look behind the camera. As expected, he finds Chris. Less expected is Viktor—again—sitting silently to Chris's side.  

Yuuri is truly surprised to be seeing Viktor so much at this leg of the race. Every interview with past contestants all revealed the same thing—seeing Viktor was a rarity unless you were part of the top five. Until then, it was just customary appearances at judging panels and occasional visits to challenge sites. His presence at photoshoots and styling sessions was beyond rare.

Then again, Viktor himself told Yuuri that he intended on spending more time with the models this season. Yuuri wonders, absently, what changed his mind.

“Lights and cameras ready?” Chris calls out. Someone calls back a response and he nods, turning his attention to Yuuri. “Alright, Yuuri, show us what you've got. This is your first and only chance to embrace this new look and brand yourself for the rest of your career. Give it everything you have.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and nods. Right. Not terrifying in the least. He can do this.

Except… he’s never had long hair before. Arguably, it’s not nearly as long as Leo’s, but it’s still a _lot_ more hair than he usually has. He doesn’t know what poses and angles look good yet. It’s not like he can postpone this to go research, so he has to go for it.

He uses his first few frames to explore the way his hair feels: running his fingers through it, tilting his head in different ways to get an idea of the way it moves and shifts with him. He only has a vague idea of what he looks like now; he has to improvise, relying solely on his background knowledge and the direction of his coaches.

“Head up, Yuuri,” Viktor calls out, speaking for the first time since the shoot started. “Don’t let your hair be a curtain and cover you, you have to use it to your advantage. Frame your face, don’t hide it.”

Yuuri huffs, moderately grateful for the vague advice. He elongates his neck, tipping his head back a bit, trying to figure out his angles and light and everything at once.

“You’re forgetting your poses, Yuuri,” Chris adds. “This isn’t a head shot, it’s a full-body shoot. Give me some movement.”

 _Need to pose, how to pose_? He he doesn’t have any clothing, props, furniture, _anything_. This is the most person-focused shoot he’s ever done.

Yuuri knows how a male model _should_ pose in this level of undress and no matter how _not him_ it is, no matter the fact that he doesn’t have a six-pack and he isn’t sculpted like some models, he wants to succeed. So he gives it a try, jutting his chin forward and tossing his arm behind his head, trying to emanate a masculine vibe.

“No!” Viktor and Chris shout in unison, startling Yuuri right out of the pose.

“Not with that hair, not with your body,” Chris states. Yuuri flushes brightly, embarrassed by the comment, but Viktor chimes in before he can start to feel insulted and ashamed.

“It’s not you,” Viktor explains. “That isn’t your look. You’re softer, you’re warmer. You don’t have to try to look like a stereotypical male underwear model because you aren’t one. Give us something a little more real.”

Yuuri takes a few slow breaths, tamping down his oncoming anxiety attack. _You’re fine, you’re fine_. They weren’t insulting him, they weren’t body shaming him, they just want him to change a pose. He nods shallowly to himself, swallowing thickly, and gets back to thinking.

If masculine isn’t him, then that means androgyny must be. How can he make himself look as ambiguous as possible?

He thinks back to his audition walk, to the feminine pose he pulled and was incredibly embarrassed by. Is that what they want? Softer, warmer, more delicate?

He gives it a try, kicking his leg out a bit, mussing up his hair and tossing his head to the side. He leaves a hand tangled in his hair, just barely pushing it out of his face, and gets an immediate response from Chris and Viktor.

“Yes, _thank you_ ,” Chris calls out. “That’s what we’re looking for, keep that up.”

“That’s absolutely beautiful, Yuuri,” Viktor agrees. “Just stunning.”

Yuuri ignores the heat in his face, hoping it won’t cost too much to retouch the color out of his cheeks.

So, this must be his image. His look; the way his employers will view him. His _eros_.

He digs through his mental library through the remainder of the shoot, drawing on inspiration from his favorite models and favorite poses. Viktor and Chris are, luckily, very vocal with their feedback. By the end of the shoot, Yuuri has a solid idea of how to improvise with this look. That doesn't mean he won't go home and spend the entire night brutally studying himself in the mirror, but still. He almost feels confident.

“That's the last frame,” Chris calls out eventually, looking satisfied. He turns to the group of models who gathered to watch throughout the shoot—Phichit, Leo, Guang-Hong, Isabella, and Yurio—and addresses them. “I hope you were all taking notes during that— _that_ is how you take direction from your coaches.”

Yuuri blushes, bashful, and smiles when Chris turns back to him.

“ _Merci, chéri,_ you listen so beautifully,” he says, smirking. “Aren't you obedient?”

He turns to a crew member next, completely missing the mortified look on Yuuri's face, and asks her to fetch the JJ for his turn. Yuuri takes the call for another model as an indirect dismissal and excuses himself from the set. He passes Chris and Viktor as he goes, receiving a wink from the former and a prideful smile from the latter.

“Stunning, Yuuri,” Viktor says, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just stunning.”

Yuuri blushes and ducks his head, smiling as he walks away. He wanders over to Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong, where he's received with praise enough to bring him to tears.

He goes to glance back at the set, and at Viktor in kind, and meets the gaze of Yurio on the way. He sneers at Yuuri, rolling his eyes and walking away immediately.

Yuuri thinks back to what Viktor told him earlier. _He's probably intimidated by you._

In most cases, Yuuri would try and fix the issues between them—he's not one to leave conflict unresolved. But, no matter how intimidating Yurio might find him, he's also underestimating Yuuri. A few unkind words might keep him up at night and bring tears to his eyes, but it won't get him to drop out of the competition.

Not when encouragement and kinder words are saturating his mind alongside them.

_Stunning, Yuuri. Just stunning._

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

After the photoshoots are finished and the group of models have had a chance to stop back at the house for lunch, they receive a message via courier at their front door—seriously, Viktor’s flair for the _extra_ is unbelievable—letting them all know that they’re going to a pose-coaching session with Lilia that evening.

Yuuri, among others, is terrified. Lilia has a seemingly very accurate reputation for being a terrifying hardass who pushes people to their absolute limits. Over forty years ago she was the prima ballerina of the Moscow _Bolshoi Ballet_ , and afterwards went on to become a renowned ballet instructor. No one has any idea of why or how Viktor managed to recruit her as a model posing coach on an American reality TV show, but everyone knows she’ll make or break any model she works with.

Yuuri is terrified of her breaking him. He is absolutely certain, despite his admittedly extensive experience with dance, that she is going to hate him. It might have something to do with the very muted outburst she had during his audition interview—the one where she tore him to bits in the most stoic way possible.

The limo-bus delivers the models to a ballet studio, to nobody’s surprise. Lilia is waiting patiently for them when they’re led inside by a crew member, wearing a plain beige overcoat and looking to the world like she never left her position as a ballet instructor.

The studio holds a similar familiarity for Yuuri, and walking inside feels like going back home. It's been awhile since he’s been able to do any real dancing. He tries to incorporate it into his workouts and he even had a few ballet courses in college, but it's not the same without Minako. Ballet was always something they did together, and doing it without her almost feels like a betrayal. He used to message her on his worst nights in high school, when his anxiety would get the better of him and send him spiralling, and no matter the time of night Minako would be up and waiting at her studio to help him through it. Doing endless _pas de chats_ in a room full of strangers doesn't have quite the same sentiment to it.

Lilia stays completely silent until the models have all filed into the room. She stares them down, demanding their attention without saying a word.

“Welcome,” Lilia greets. The models nod and a few say quiet ‘hello's. “I can see the makeovers went well today. Good to know no one was so soft they walked out over a haircut.”

Yuuri glances sidelong at JJ and sees him wrinkle his nose. _He sure came close._ Yuuri hasn’t spent much time around JJ, but he wonders if he’s going to last in this competition. Then again, people probably think the same about Yuuri himself.

“I saw the raw footage from the photoshoots you had this morning,” Lilia continues. “You all did well enough adapting to the change in your looks, but your posing was abysmal. Very few of you know how to hold and position yourselves properly. You're muddied up with the mediocrity of modern modeling, not putting the full effort into making the entire photo into a work of art.”

“A model is a backdrop against which designers display their creations. The backdrop doesn't need to be outlandishly detailed, but it doesn't need to be plain either. The way you display someone's art should be with a similar, simpler flair. No ungainly exposed underarms. No unflattering facial expressions. Simple; beautiful.”

The roomful of models has practically fallen under a spell, each of them listening so intently that Yuuri is afraid if he breathes too loudly he might get elbowed to quiet down. Lilia may be terrifying, but she's good. Now Yuuri understands why Viktor wanted her on the show.

Lilia takes a slow step forward, her expression softening just so. “Ballerinas pantomime elegance,” she says. She moves her arms forward, rounded in front of her, and brings her heels together into first position. “There is an exaggerated air of class and grace in the way they move. That same grandeur can be brought to modeling, and that is what I'll be teaching you today.”

She drops her arms and scans the group, eyes settling on each of them in turn. “If you want to break away from catalogue modeling and gain international interest, you need to throw away all prior knowledge you have,” she says. “Dump your old image. You have new looks; now learn new skills. Let’s get started. There are X’s taped on the floor in front of the barre behind you, everyone go stand on one and wait for instruction.”

The models come back to life in a flurry, scattering to find an X to stand on. Yuuri snags one and plants himself there, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Phichit gets the spot next to him and catches his gaze, shooting him a supportive grin. Phichit knows about Yuuri’s ballet history and, in fact, has a video on his computer in his “Yuuri Blackmail” folder of a drunken Yuuri doing a set of sloppy _tours en l’air_ and then falling and cutting his temple on the coffee table. He got a black eye and a minor concussion, and never managed to convince Phichit to delete the video despite valid arguments that Phichit will probably never need to blackmail him.

Despite that inopportune memory, Yuuri is feeling excited about this class. He’s bound to be pretty rusty, but he might be able to partially redeem himself in Lilia’s eyes.

Lilia walks up to the far end of the barre and unties her overcoat, shedding it and revealing a plain black tank top and a fashionable rose trash bag pant. “We stretch first,” she says, placing a hand delicately on the barre. “Stretching warms up the muscles and mind, and increases your flexibility. Mirror me.”

She turns to face the barre and lifts a leg to settle on it in one swift movement, raising a few eyebrows throughout the group. Yuuri, Yurio, and a few others easily do the same, while a couple—JJ being one of them—have to hold onto the barre and use their other hand to pull their leg up.

“Lean over your leg and raise the opposite arm over the top of your head,” Lilia instructs. “Feel the stretch up the back of your leg and down your side.”

Yuuri sees a few of the models glancing sidelong at Lilia’s reflection in the mirror, doing their best to mimic her, but after a moment he shuts his eyes. He knows these stretches, and though he’s out of practice and the burn is a bit more than he’s used to, it’s just second nature for him.

Lilia leads them through various stretches, none too intense, and Yuuri follows along with ease, smiling the entire time. A few times he opens his eyes and looks around at the others to see how they’re doing—Mila and Sara seem to be enjoying themselves, as do Phichit and even Georgi. JJ, Anya, and Guang-Hong are all looking a bit disgruntled. Unsurprisingly, Yurio is doing well, and Yuuri has a feeling he isn’t the only one here with a background in ballet.

When they’re stretched to Lilia’s satisfaction, she moves on to teaching them a few moves. She demonstrates the various positions, an _attitude devant,_ an _é_ _chapp_ _é_ , and has the models give each one a try.

“I see some frustrated faces,” she says after showing them a world-class _d_ _éveloppé_ and then telling them to do it too. “And I think that your frustration stems from the fact that you’re not understanding the purpose of this exercise.”

She looks down the line until she meets Yuuri’s gaze. “You,” she says. “Katsuki. Why do you think we’re having this class?”

Yuuri flushes brightly. He knows the answer to this, but it doesn’t make being singled out by one of the most terrifying people alive any less scary. Not even to mention that everyone else in the room has stopped awkwardly dancing and is now looking intently at him.

“Um, to help us add movement to our posing?” he answers, holding back a cringe when he hears the involuntary inflection of unsurety at the end. “Ballet makes you focus on how every part of your body is positioned. You’re supposed to do the same thing when you’re posing for photoshoots.”

The slightest hint of a smile twitches at the corner of Lilia’s lips. “Correct,” she says. “One of Vitya’s favorite inane expressions is modeling ‘H2T,’ or ‘head to toe.’ When you do full body shoots, you should be paying attention to your entire body. A poorly angled foot can, quite literally, ruin an entire shoot. I am not having you practice these moves because I want you to turn into prima ballerinas—the majority of you would be absolutely abysmal. I am teaching you these moves to help you focus on your body and gain spatial awareness. Again, continue with the _d_ _éveloppés._ ”

The models, slightly less disgruntled now, go back to dancing with their newfound knowledge. Yuuri relaxes, rubbing one of his cheeks like it’ll will away the blush still lingering there. He sneaks a look at Lilia and finds her staring at him. He smiles awkwardly and looks away again, doing his best _d_ _éveloppé_ —which is quite poor—and feeling, for the first time in this competition, pleased with himself.

After another ten minutes of confused and laughable dancing, Lilia lets them know that they’re done for the day, and that they won’t be having their challenge until tomorrow. “Makeover week is backwards,” she explains. “Photoshoots first, challenges after. Rest up tonight, take ibuprofen in the morning. You’ll be sore. Look out for a message from Vitya this evening. You may go now.”

The models shamble toward the door with their returned crew member, some of them grumbling, some chatting excitedly. Yuuri trails toward the back of the line, not wanting to shove himself between a bunch of his sweaty housemates, and feels a hand grab his shoulder sharply. He nearly jumps out of his skin, spinning around and coming face-to-face with Lilia.

“Katsuki,” she greets.

“Um, hi?” Yuuri replies nervously, hoping she isn’t about to physically rip him to bits.

“You have training,” she says simply, dropping her hand.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, relaxing in slight. “Um, yes. As a kid in Japan I went to classes and trained under Minako Okukawa.”

For the first time, possibly ever, Lilia's full facial expression changes, brows shooting up and mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Minako Okukawa?” she repeats. “You're very lucky. She's incredibly decorated.”

Yuuri nods, smiling. He'd always loved listening to Minako tell him stories about travelling the world for dance; he's seen every one of her awards, displayed humbly in the office of her studio back home. She's one of the most dedicated, fierce, talented people Yuuri has ever met, and she's one of his biggest inspirations.

“She's a friend of my family,” Yuuri says. “I went to her classes for ten years. I'm very grateful to her, she taught me a lot.”

Lilia nods. Her expression returns to its harsh, slightly judgemental resting state. “Use it to your advantage. You'll excel in the challenge tomorrow.”

She turns and walks away without another word.

Yuuri smiles and hurries out the door, his heart for the first time skipping excitedly at the prospect of the next challenge.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The rest of the evening is spent in the model house, which feels busier and louder than usual. Everyone is fawning over each other’s looks, with the most popular makeovers being Isabella’s and Leo’s. The half black, half platinum look is incredible on Isabella—Yuuri is among many who can’t stop staring at her, though JJ takes the cake as far as ogling goes.

Phichit is a close second, but the subject of his ogling is Leo, who, Yuuri notices, has started ogling Phichit in return. Yuuri smirks to himself and makes a note to let Guang-Hong know they should probably start avoiding their room soon.

As the night goes on the models break off into groups that are starting to become more regular: Mila, Sara, Georgi, and Anya tend to lie around in the living room drinking and gossiping, with Yurio and Otabek off to the side brooding together; Isabella and JJ disappear into the winner’s suite, which Yuuri tries not to think about too much; and Yuuri, Phichit, Leo, Guang-Hong, and Yuuko all group up in one of the entertainment rooms and watch ANTM reruns and other awful reality TV.

Yuuri is relieved that he’s starting to feel comfortable among this group, but it’s still draining to be around them. He tries to take an hour to himself every evening to just be alone and he has his workout sessions after everyone has gone to sleep, but he’s so frequently surrounded by people that he’s plain exhausted. Add to that the fact that Viktor has them waking up at hellish hours every morning and he feels like he can barely keep his eyes open.

He’s half-dozing on one of the couches, in fact, when Mila and Sara burst into the room announcing that there’s a message on the screen in the catwalk room from Viktor.

“It says everyone has to be in the room before we open it,” Mila says, bouncing excitedly. “Come on!”

Yuuri wakes up quickly after that, allowing Phichit to drag him with the others to the catwalk room, which is buzzing with excitement from all of the models. Yuuri catches sight of the previously blank screen on the wall behind the catwalk—it now displays a digital envelope with the initials _V. N._ on the front, and beneath that it reads ‘ _Please gather everyone for the announcement of the next challenge,’_ with an arrow to the side of the text. 

Yuuri smiles, loving the lengths to which Viktor is going to get them excited about the competitions. The last ones to join them are JJ and Isabella, looking a bit dishevelled. Once they’ve found a spot and everyone is settled in, Mila hops upon the catwalk and walks over to the screen, pressing down on the arrow next to the text.

She steps back and the screen goes black again, before lighting up to a soft pink screen. Purple script fades in, and everyone leans forward to get a better look.

 _‘You’ve learned to model head 2 toe_  
_And showed off you_ _r best échappé_  
_Now demonstrate a sweet romance_  
_Sky-high ballet; a silken dance.’_

The room is quiet for a minute as the models read through the riddle—and then read through it again, and again. Finally, Yurio cuts through the silence.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“Aerial silks!” Viktor exclaims, beaming.

The models all stare at him, each of them wearing strikingly different facial expressions. It’s clear that a few of them don’t even know what aerial silk is, while many of the ones who do know look intimidated and frightened by the prospect. They’re back in the ballet studio with Lilia, which is surely adding to some of the fear in the atmosphere, with the addition of Viktor contributing to their stress levels.

Today, there are thirteen red, silk hammocks affixed to the ceiling, one of which Viktor is lazily swinging in as he talks.

Yuuri is among the intimidated models. Aerial silk is a beautiful art, one that he admires greatly, but he has absolutely no idea how to do it. He’s been working out more and he might have enough upper-body and core strength, but that means nothing as far as technique.

Viktor goes on to explain for the models who don’t understand. “Aerial silk is a mix of dance and acrobatics,” he explains enthusiastically. He twists his hands in the silk and spins himself slowly, wrapping it around his waist and posing, almost delicately. Yuuri bites his lip, doing his best to ignore how beautiful the maroon silk looks in contrast with Viktor's hair.

“The dancers suspend themselves in the air from silk ropes in a variety of positions,” Viktor continues. “It’s an incredibly gorgeous display—sensual and passionate. So today, for your challenge, you’re all going to be posing from an aerial silk using the skills Lilia taught you yesterday!”

He pauses for an enthusiastic reaction, but most of the models still have an anxious energy around them. Lilia, standing beside Viktor, has the first hint of amusement on her face that Yuuri has ever seen. Viktor pouts a bit, but recovers.

“The silk carries your weight, which makes exaggerated posing much easier than if you still had to balance on the ground,” Viktor says. “The ballet poses you learned are a great foundation, but I want you all to use this challenge to exercise your creativity. It’ll be fun!”

That gets a bit more of a positive reaction, which Viktor seems to accept. Yuuri sneaks a glance at his fellow models and sees that most of them look determined now, with just a few still trepidatious in expression. Guang-Hong especially looks nervous, which makes Yuuri’s heart break a bit. He may be younger, but Guang-Hong is a promising model that Yuuri would love to see succeed.

Viktor climbs out of the hammock and dismisses them to change clothes, looking a bit surly about the models not being as excited as he is. Yuuri can imagine it would be a bit disappointing to go to great lengths to surprise the models with creative challenges only to have them respond with a lukewarm attitude. After all, with ten seasons of the show under his belt, it must be hard for Viktor to keep coming up with unthought-of ideas.

Everyone knows that that’s always been one of Viktor’s goals—being surprising. Modelling can be very catalogue, which Viktor always says he wants to avoid.

“In a world where _avant garde_ modelling exists,” Viktor said once in an interview, “who would want to do the same old thing every day?”

Viktor’s innovation has been something Yuuri has always admired and aspired to. That, along with his level of confidence in everything he does. It’s hard to model outside of the box when you’re too hesitant to even perform the basics.

The models are provided with basic athletic wear; black tank-tops and yoga pants for everyone across the board. It’s a bit tighter than Yuuri likes, but at least it’s full-coverage. He fared relatively well with yesterday’s practically-an-underwear-ad shoot, but the simplicity and comfort of this clothing will make it easier for him to focus on the challenge today.

He picks out a hammock between Phichit and Yuuko, and they wait as the remaining models find their way over.

“I'll be judging your posing today,” Lilia says once everyone is in place. “I expect to be impressed. Whomever I feel demonstrates the best posing will be the challenge winner. Hold your poses for no less than thirty seconds; I need to be able to get a good look at each one.”

With regained enthusiasm, Viktor holds up a little remote and presses a button. Pop music starts playing and, with a look of distaste, Lilia calls out, “You may begin.”

Yuuri licks his lips and steps up to his hammock, hands trembling. He takes a deep breath and goes to grab the silk and give it a try, but Viktor speaks up and interrupts his thought process.

“Remember, this is an impassioned art,” Viktor says, starting to wander down the same row Yuuri is in. “It’s classy, but it’s supposed to be erotic.”

He stops in front of Yuuri’s hammock and looks him dead in the eye as he says, “See what you can do to bring me to my knees.”

He winks and continues walking, leaving Yuuri beet-red and gawping as he goes. _Did that actually just happen?_ Yuuri looks over at Phichit for confirmation and is greeted by an equally stunned expression on his friend’s face.

_That actually just happened._

Yuuri wasn’t imagining things at all yesterday when he thought Viktor was flirting with him. He thought it was completely outside the realm of possibility, but even he isn’t awkward and nervous enough to talk himself out of how explicit that flirtation was.

He snaps back to reality, swallowing hard and ignoring the heat in his cheeks. Where he previously felt the inklings of anxiety, he starts to feel… determination. Yuuri reaches out and takes two handfuls of the silk.

 _Seduce me with all you have_ , Viktor had told him at judging last week.

A little thrill runs down Yuuri’s spine as he wraps himself in the silk. Viktor is very insistent on seeing Yuuri blossom into some kind of sex symbol, and if that’s what it takes to win this competition, then Yuuri will do everything he can to bring Viktor to his knees.  

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“Are you really leg-bouncing right now?” Phichit asks softly, without malice. “You have no reason to be leg-bouncing!”

Yuuri forces himself to still his uncontrollably shaking legs. “I can't help it,” he huffs, shoving his hands under his thighs.

Still, he knows Phichit is right. He really doesn't have anything to worry about, especially with his first challenge win under his belt. It practically guarantees that he's moving forward in the competition. Nevertheless, he's anxiety-ridden; he has to make it through what the judges have to say about the photoshoot, which is what's extremely nerve-wracking in his mind.

The challenge win had come as a surprise to him and—apparently—no one else. Retroactively, Yuuri understands that. After all, the other models told him, he was among the few who excelled during Lilia’s teach the other day. He was the only one aside from Yurio with legitimate dance experience. He’s _overly_ aware of every part of his body at every given moment. It makes sense that he would win a challenge focused specifically on body movement and posing.

It didn’t matter at the time how rational it was that Yuuri won, it still caught him off guard and made him a sputtering mess when Lilia announced it. The truth is that it doesn’t matter how skillful Yuuri actually is, it feels impossible for him to acknowledge that when he’s faced with a challenge outside of his comfort zone.

A zone which is, realistically, quite small.

Trying to act sexy feels like just that—an act. He’s never considered himself more than averagely attractive, and as far as he’s aware, neither has anyone else. Coming into a competition where he’s told that his new persona is flush with eroticism and sex appeal is like culture shock.

Phichit opens his mouth—to say something snarky, no doubt—but is interrupted by a crew member calling the models into the judging room. Yuuri takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand.

Phichit puts a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I bet you take best picture tonight,” he says, winking. “You should be more worried about me. I totally almost fell out of my hammock during the challenge.”

Yuuri huffs a little laugh, smiling. “Thanks, Phi,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, yeah,” Phichit says, tossing his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go kick ass.”

The models gather into the judging room where Viktor, Chris, and Lilia are already assembled and waiting with patient smiles (well, a scowl in Lilia’s case). Yuuri glances at Viktor, who meets his gaze and—he _swears_ —brightens when they make eye contact. Yuuri blushes and looks away.

If Viktor is going to keep flirting for the rest of the season, Yuuri isn’t sure how he’s going to survive it.

“Models, welcome back,” Viktor greets once everyone is settled. “I’m still not over how incredible you all look—thank you for being such _beautiful_ canvases for me. I’m sure you remember this season’s prizes, but as a quick refresher, the model who takes the winning spot in this competition with sign on with NEXT and Dior, and share a photoshoot with me in Italian Vogue. Now, to review this week’s photoshoot.”

He starts with Mila this week, who gets a seven average on her photo. JJ, with his new fade, only gets a six—Yuuri has a feeling it’s because of the way he acted during makeovers—and Sara, who looks incredible in a wavy chin-length crop gets an eight.   

Viktor calls Yuuri up next. His face heats and he takes a deep breath, stepping out from the group and walking up to the judge’s table. Viktor leans on the table and rests his chin in his hand, smiling warmly. Chris looks sidelong at Viktor with an odd expression; Yuuri can’t tell for sure, but it almost looks like concern. It makes his stomach flip anxiously.

“Yuuri,” Viktor greets, nearly crooning. “I know that telling you your makeover was my favorite gave you expectations to live up to. I hope I didn’t pressure you too strongly.”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says, smiling, “it was… confidence-boosting.”

That’s putting it mildly, but he doesn’t want to think about how he’d be teased if he said it was a literal dream come true.

Viktor beams. “Good,” he says. “Let’s see your best post-makeover photo, then.”

Everyone looks to the screen as Yuuri’s photo pops up there. Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat—it’s his first time really seeing his made-over self, and his chest feels tight, heart pounding rapidly. It’s momentarily silent.

“What’s your first thought, looking at this?” Viktor asks, voice gentle.

Yuuri licks his lips. “I… look good,” he admits. The pressure in his chest releases in an excited flurry as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It almost turns into a giggle, and he smiles bashfully. “I look _really_ _good_.”

He looks back at the judges and finds all of them smiling back at him—even Lilia, miniscule though it is.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, grinning proudly, “did you know that’s the first positive thing you’ve said about yourself since we met you?”

Yuuri feels an embarrassed blush rise on his cheeks, smile fading. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he believes it. He looks back at the photo, contemplating it. The makeover isn’t that dramatic—it’s not as though Yuuri is unrecognizable in the picture. Everything about himself that he’s uncomfortable with is still there. Changing his hair and getting contacts didn’t take away his stretch marks or cellulite, and it didn’t change the way he carries weight.

Nevertheless, his first thought when he saw the picture was a positive one. _I look good_. He can’t remember a single time before today that he’s thought that when looking at himself.  His heart is thrumming because he’s _happy_ , not distressed.

Is this what self-confidence feels like?

“I think the best part about this picture,” Chris says, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him back to reality, “is that by changing your look, we forced you to improvise. It took some encouragement, but once you started trusting your instincts the rest came naturally. This is a gorgeous picture, Yuuri.”

“Agreed,” Viktor says. “You really started to shine this week, Yuuri. Your performance at the challenge was amazing, too.”

“It was decent,” Lilia confirms. Hearing that from her sounds like high praise from the heavens at this point.

“I am sad I had to miss the surely beautiful aerial dancing you did to take the challenge win,” Chris says, smirking. “I heard it was _quite_ impressive.”

“I’ve never seen someone do a full split with no warm-up beforehand,” Viktor adds, smiling coyly. “It was definitely impressive.”

Yuuri turns red. God, did he really do that? He hardly remembers half the poses he pulled. He went in so determined to seduce Viktor—as requested—that he just stopped paying attention and started to have _fun._  

“Well, with that pretty image in our minds, should we score him?” Chris asks.

Viktor laughs softly. “Yes, go ahead.”

“Ten,” Chris says without hesitation.

Yuuri’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops; a few of the other models gasp. He can barely hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Lilia’s lips twitch upward. “I’m not as easily impressed,” she says, “but you did well. Nine.”

“And a nine from me,” Viktor concludes, smiling. “Keep working hard to impress me. You’ll get another ten. For now though, an average of nine. Good job, Yuuri.”

“Arigatou gozaimasu,” Yuuri breathes, hand clutching at his chest. He tears up and blinks hard. “Thank you so _much_.”

He walks back to the group in shock. _Ten_. He may have averaged out to nine, but that doesn’t change the fact that he just got the first ten of the season. _The first ten of the season._

The rest of the judging flies by and Yuuri watches the rest of the models go up without taking in much information. He catches a few strong compliments given to Yurio, Isabella, and Leo. He sees a downcast look on Guang-Hong’s face when he gets a score of six.

And then Viktor is coming around to the front of the table to announce best picture, and Yuuri realizes that in all likelihood it’s—

“Yuuri,” Viktor announces, smiling warmly.

Yuuri walks up to Viktor, hands shaking. Viktor hands him his photo.

“Confidence looks good on you,” he says. “I bet it feels even better.”

Yuuri tears up again and resists the sudden urge to throw his arms around Viktor in a hug. “Thank you, Viktor,” he says. He swallows hard and looks up at Viktor, forcing some determination into his hushed tone. “I’m going to keep working hard to impress you. I want to get that ten.”

Viktor beams so brightly it’s blinding. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says.

Yuuri nods and wanders off to the side so he can watch the rest of the group get their pictures. After Phichit gets his, he runs to Yuuri and tackles him in a hug, nearly lifting him off the ground in his excitement. In the middle of his flailing, Yuuri catches a glimpse of Viktor quietly laughing at them.

In the end, it comes down to Guang-Hong and JJ. JJ, because of his attitude during makeovers, and Guang-Hong because of his low challenge and photo score. Viktor’s level expression gives way to moderate disapproval as he announces that JJ will be continuing on, and Guang-Hong will be going home.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“I can’t _believe_ we’re in the _winner’s suite!”_ Phichit exclaims, flopping backwards onto the bed in a big _whumpf._

Yuuri sits down beside him, unable to stop himself from smiling. “I feel bad,” he says, completely incongruently. “We just saw Guang-Hong off and now we’re back to celebrating.”

Phichit shrugs, sitting up on his elbows. “It’s a competition,” he says. “It has to happen. I absolutely expect you to keep on partying if I get sent home.”

“ _Phichit_ ,” Yuuri huffs, “don’t say that!”

“Fine, fine,” Phichit laughs. “Suit yourself. Anyway, thanks for choosing me to share the winner’s suite with you. I’m sure Yurio is _super_ disappointed.”

Yuuri snorts. “Viktor thinks he’s intimidated by me.”

“Oh, definitely,” Phichit agrees.

“Really?”

“Yuuri, you’re super talented and totally hot, in like, a mature way,” Phichit says. “He’s like, twelve. Of course he’s intimidated.”

Yuuri sighs, lying back on the bed. “I guess I don’t get it,” he mumbles.

“You will,” Phichit says. “Especially if all those compliments from Viktor start going to your head. _Ooh-la-la.”_

Yuuri blushes brightly and throws his arms over his face. “I still can’t believe what he said during the challenge,” he whimpers, ignoring the stirrings of arousal low in his stomach from just _thinking_ about it. “I’m going to explode.”

“Yeah, I’ll leave you to that,” Phichit snickers, hopping off the bed. “I can only imagine what this much Viktor exposure is doing to you. You enjoy yourself while I go do something similar with Leo.”

Yuuri grabs a pillow and throws it at him without looking. Phichit laughs as he leaves the room.

Yuuri crosses his arms over his chest and stares up at the ceiling. He’s still in shock that he won best picture at all, let alone so early in the season. Scores like that are going to start building expectations.

He groans and rolls onto his stomach, screwing his eyes shut. _No thinking about expectations_. If he starts worrying about what people are expecting from him, it’s going to backfire.

Right now, he wants to enjoy this. He has entire personal spa at his fingertips, and Phichit won’t be back for a few hours—they already agreed that Yuuri could use the winner’s suite as a place to recharge in the evenings while Phichit socializes with their housemates.

He clambers off the bed and goes into the bathroom to fill up the tub. It’s huge and it has jets, which Yuuri is very much looking forward to. He’s dead tired after his emotional rollercoaster and he just wants to relax before he works out for the evening.

When the tub is full he climbs in and turns the jets on, sighing happily and sinking down low. Nothing holds a flame to the onsen back home, but a hot-tub sized bath will do for now.

Yuuri tips his head back against the tub’s edge and smiles. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what he said earlier—his first truly positive thought about himself in who knows how long. He drags his fingertips across his stomach, feeling the smooth and familiar dips of stretch marks around his waist.

Before today, he can’t remember the last time he felt self-assured. And though his confidence in himself is still minimal, it’s there. When Viktor told him at the last judging that he planned on helping Yuuri detangle himself from his anxious thoughts and re-discover his confidence, it felt like a hopeless goal.

Now Yuuri feels like there might be a chance. For the first time, he can’t wait to wake up and get back to work tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspo for yuuri's makeover: [1](https://ellaisweird.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/kang_dong_won80912003.jpg), [2](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/25/e4/ad/25e4ad71ba09411b1da90c1f08f7307d.jpg), [3](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ea/a1/96/eaa196e67327b8155af7a38854233065.jpg), [4](http://www.frisurfuralle.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/1518610074_687_25-beliebte-manner-lange-asiatische-haare.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> a few more notes about this fic:
> 
> 1) so anyone who watches ANTM will notice that i'm not following the rules of the Model House -- i think it's terrifying that Tyra locks all the contestants in the house and doesn't let them go anywhere unless it's for work lmao. the models in this fic have a free day every friday where they're allowed to go out on the town, but they do have a curfew to return to the house. 
> 
> 2) i also think it's terrifying that Tyra makes the models cut off all communication with their families other than like, five minutes of phone time once a week (for real Tyra Banks could be killing people off and would we ever know ???) so the models get phone time daily in this fic!
> 
> 3) an ANTM glossary, for anyone who doesn't watch the show obsessively:  
> \- smize: smile with your eyes  
> \- tooch/booch: a pose where a model arches their back and sticks their ass out a little but still shows their face,  
> \- drekitude: a hot fucking mess  
> \- H 2 T: head to toe
> 
> 4) and finally, an explanation of Viktor, Chris, and Lilia's positions:  
> \- Viktor is the show's host as well as a coach for the models, teaching them how to boost basic modeling skills and become The Ultimate Models  
> \- Chris is the show's resident photographer and set designer and he arranges all the challenges and most of the photoshoots  
> \- Lilia is the runway coach for the models and teaches them how not to fuck up during fashion shows as well as some coaching on posing, finding light, and other technical modelly things  
> \- all three are panel judges and decide at the end of each week who is going home next; they share the decision equally and even though Viktor is the host his vote can be overruled
> 
> that's about everything there is to know about this au !! enjoy the gay


End file.
